Thoughts from the Grave
by SalvaVeritate
Summary: ...So we played with the fire, little by little, the warmth sustaining and paining us at the same time. What an exquisite way to burn…
1. Broken

**I don't own the characters. That's pretty much established.**

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**Thoughts from the Grave**

**Chapter 1: Broken**

_**"There's a moment of fear in the returning to sleep. A hesitation: there are darknesses beyond the curtain of waking, and the shadow-plays clutch at my heart... Too late. I'm gone." **_

**-Neil Gaiman **

So this is what death feels like.

Yeah, I know I haven't really been the most religious and moral person to have lived, but I had been expecting something along the clichéd lines of seeing a brilliant white light descend down upon me… To send me straight to a place Kathryn and I had always known we would end up in. But strangely enough, I'm still here. I still see my house; I still feel that excruciating pain on my right hip from where that cab slammed into me.

You've heard of my death, about how noble and heroic I've been, shoving my girlfriend out of the way and getting hit by that fucking cab in the process. Truth be told, I hadn't expected to actually die doing the first and last good deed I'd ever get to do. It figures. I guess that had been the reason why I've never actually done a single good thing in my life until that day. The story has been greatly exaggerated as it traveled from one person to another, and pretty soon, there were even tales of me asking Annette for her hand in marriage seconds before I died, giving her a ring and supposedly weeping like a little kid.

Imagine. Me. Sebastian Valmont, reduced to tears. It would probably be easier for you to imagine the concept of who built the Stonehedge or even the existence of UFOs. It was farfetched and certainly not true, and I, even in this peculiar state of being, would adamantly attest to that. I never cry. The last time I cried, I was eight years old and my mother died. Since then, I've been pretty much an asshole.

Would you like me to describe what it feels like from this point of view? _If only the dead could talk_… Well, I'm talking right now and the problem is no one really hears me. My death has revealed the people who truly gave a damn about me, which totaled to very few. It wouldn't really surprise me if my father would go back to screwing his fiftieth blond secretary as if his only son hadn't been run over by a fucking car after my funeral.

_"Annette… I love you."_

God, the look of sadness on Annette's angelic face near damn made the pain worse. Let me tell you, it was really just a split second before I saw my battered body lying still in her arms. I suppose it would have been quite romantic if my initial thought was about Annette, but really, it was more of a _'What the fuck have I gotten myself into?'_ So you see, there's really no point in making me look heroic, because I'm far from it. I'm as fucked up as they go, and I don't think the way I died could ever change that. Annette's large doe eyes filled with tears as she held my corpse, her soft blond hair shaking, brushing across her back as her body shuddered with sobs. Everything else seemed to move so fast after that, and pretty soon, she was quietly being led by a horrified looking Ronald to her house after the ambulance took whatever was left of me away.

As soon as I closed my eyes, I was filled with an unimaginable amount of anger towards the fucking bitch that had caused all of this. I really was in no mood to watch Annette cry anymore so I went to my house. Or, rather, my former house, seeing as how I would never really be able to live in it anymore.

Obviously, they still had no idea that I've died. Making my way into Kathryn's bedroom, (where the wicked witch herself was probably finding ways to amuse her twisted self by doing what she loved best: fucking) I paced myself, trying to build up the rage I'd felt towards her. As I went through the door, I stopped in surprise as soon as I saw her seated quietly, facing the window. Her beautiful face looked dazed and alone, and before I could help it, I instinctively reached out to her, to touch her somehow. She didn't move an inch, her sharp green eyes just looking out the busy streets of New York as if she would find whatever she had been looking for there.

"Hey, Katie." I spoke, wincing as I sat down beside her on the floor. I waited for her to turn around and snap at me not to use that name, but she didn't move. Her ears were deaf to my voice now, and the fucked up side of me realized how unfair it was, given that I could call her every horrible name under the sun and she wouldn't even be able to know. The unfinished bottle of Cristal I had brought earlier stood unnoticed, which was odd since she loved the stuff.

"You know, I've always loved this view." I cleared my throat, but again, she didn't respond. I initially had gone over here to scare the living daylights out of the uptight two faced bitch, but apparently, I didn't have that ability. Instead, I opted to stay and watch her for while, just to see what she really did during the moments when she was completely alone. It had been one of the mysteries I had pondered about in my journal, and I guess now I'm going to get the answers. I stared at her, once again marveling at how someone so beautiful could be so dangerous. Her lithe, tiny body sat nestled against the antique chair as her brown hair spilled across her smooth, porcelain colored back. Kathryn's pink lips were slightly parted, obviously lost in her thoughts. I momentarily wondered what the bitch was thinking about… Perhaps new ways to fuck up people? I wouldn't really put it past her.

There was a gentle yet urgent knock on her door and she jumped in surprise. "Who is it?" she called out, craning her neck.

"It's Ronald."

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "I'm not in the mood right now, Ronald. Just go away."

The door opened and he walked in, much to Kathryn's annoyance. "What part of go away didn't you understand?" she said cattily.

Ronald's dark face bore a somber look as he approached Kathryn, "There's been an accident…"

I watched in sick fascination as the story of my death was being retold, my gaze alternating from his pained expression to her impassive demeanor. As Ronald spoke, Kathryn stared at him as if he were only telling her a story about his day, which infuriated me more. God, I hate her so much. I would donate all my organs just for a chance to strangle her pretty little neck. Really, did she have no conscience at all? Her almond shaped eyes didn't even register a miniscule amount of guilt or sadness and I could tell Ronald was a bit taken aback by this, judging from the surprised look on his face after he finished his story.

That's right, sis, be numb. You were never capable of feeling anything anyway.

"Are you sure he's gone?" she asked calmly, her chin tilted up.

I started imagining all the ways I would kill her, what kind of sick fuck wouldn't even feel bad after getting someone killed?

Ronald nodded sadly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "They're going to transfer him to the morgue in a while… I can go with you if you want to…"

"No." she cut him off, once again startling poor Ronald. "I'd rather stay here. You can leave now."

"But—"

"Go." She snapped, a mean smile flickering over her features. "Thanks for the update, Ronald."

I expected her to pick up the phone and call another one of her insipid moron bedmates, and I didn't really want to stick around to watch her waste her time with the unworthy cretin of the day. Kathryn stood still once again, her face as expressionless as it was during her moments of pretending. Maybe this was what she really was, and it greatly disappointed me. After realizing that she probably was going to stuff her nostrils with her precious coke, I turned to leave.

"Damn you, Sebastian." She whispered and I froze, the hairs on the back of my head rising as she finally addressed me. Did she see me? Was there some sort of screwed up connection between us that somehow transcended even death?

I slowly turned around; half hoping and half fearing that she would be looking straight at me. My body tingled with anticipation and anxiety; once again, she has somehow succeeded in making me feel two completely different and opposing emotions at the same time.

The walls my stepsister built around herself collapsed before my unbelieving eyes as the tears ran down her face, her stiff posture now slumping.

"Nice to see you, too." I muttered, still unable to believe she was shedding actual tears. Now, I wish I could tell you that she did see me, but as these things go, both life and death truly have a way of sucking.

Kathryn grabbed the nearest vase and hurled it against the wall, making me recoil at the sight of a hundred shards scattering across the room. Fury seemed to overtake her now former indifferent self as she proceeded to thrash, shatter, and mess everything in sight up, and I could only watch with my jaw dropped open. This was the most emotional I've ever seen her, and ironically enough, it seemed to be for me.

"I HATE YOU!" she screamed, her sobbing, shaking form lay in the middle of the shattered and broken objects she'd knocked over. Her legs were awkwardly positioned across the floor and her usually perfect brown hair now stuck in sweaty clumps.

"Payback's a bitch." I said, not even realizing how stupid and useless talking back to her was. Now seated in front of her, I eagerly watched as the ice queen herself acted human. Kathryn and I had always taken pleasure in watching other people suffer, and looking at her the way I was now; I took more pleasure in watching her actually feel something real as opposed to the pleasure I would have felt at the sight of her feeling miserarable.

Her palms pressed against the floor and she gave out a cry of pain as the sharp pieces of glass pierced her skin.

"Fuck." I cursed, once again impulsively reaching out to hold her wounded hands, but I slipped right through her.

Her tears subsided as she examined the dark, crimson liquid trailing down her arm in perverse wonder. "I love you, but you didn't love me anymore." She finally murmured quietly, her eyes red rimmed from the tears.

What? My heartbeat (or something that strangely felt like one) sped up as the comprehension of her words hit me. Kathryn continued talking in her trancelike state, as if she had been aware that I was there with her.

Not bothering to clean her wounds after she plucked out each piece of her mother's prized vase from her hands, this eternally complex woman crawled to her bed, her delicate body curling up in a fetal position like she wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear. She strangely resembled a little girl who had tried to face the monsters in her nightmares and lost, yet… My God… Was it even possible that even though she was physically and emotionally messed up, she could still be so damn perfect?

"Come back to me." She whispered pitifully, her tone causing a gentle stirring somewhere within me. "Please?"

I lay down beside her, almost screaming in frustration because I couldn't even feel her skin on mine anymore. "I'm here." I said, my voice breaking. If I had been alive, her head would be nestled against my neck, and I would be able to feel her breathing next to me. The pitfalls of death have never pained me more than it's doing now, but that's something that will once again be unheard of. I could almost smell her lustrous dark hair, the aphrodisiac that never failed to arouse and intrigue me. I placed my hand next to hers instead, so our fingers were almost touching, but not enough for her to go through me again the way she did earlier. "See the great lengths I go through to get to you?" I tried smiling, but I was too distracted by her forlorn face and the sight of her bloodied hands.

"Remember when you said that you would get me somehow?" she immediately spoke, continuing as if I didn't talk.

I didn't reply, although I remembered quite well.

_Frowning at my apparent lack of interest and disappointment, I felt her tight ass on my lap as she sat down, sweetly smiling that seductive smile of hers. She wrapped her arms around my neck, pouting slightly._

_"What's wrong?" she'd asked, trying and failing to sound nonchalant._

_"You're such a cocktease." I said bitterly, "I don't understand it, Kathryn. You just waste yourself on all these useless men who never satisfy you."_

_"And you will?" Her eyebrow raised, a smirk appearing on her face._

_"Tease and taunt all you want," I kissed her before she could resist, and I once again tasted her exquisite mouth. Her lips were soft as she responded for a few minutes, obviously liking the attention. Her hands slowly made its way on my chest and she used it to push me away, a slow smile on her flushed face._

_"Trust me…" she purred, placing her forehead on mind until our noses almost touched. "I'll be worth the wait."_

_"I promise you, Kathryn. I'll have you someday, and you're going to regret putting me off for so long."_

"Such carefree banters in our younger days." I sighed as the memory ended and I once again found myself watching my stepsister.

"You already have me." She said quietly, tears once again filling her sad eyes. "You just didn't know it."

I ran a hand through my messed up hair, now shaking as bad as she was. My hatred for her, for what she's caused to happen, was melting as fast as her façade. At the end of the day, wasn't it what happened between her and me? During certain moments in our lives, Kathryn and I loved each other with something stronger than love itself, and it was during these moments that the lines which had separated us dissipated into nothing. These particular instances never lasted, but they were every bit as intense despite the short amount of time. My hatred for her would dissolve along with those lines, but just as quickly and arbitrary these windows opened, they would quickly slam shut. I used to think this happened because the passion we'd felt for each other would burn us alive if we let it get the best of us, so we played with the fire, little by little, the warmth sustaining and paining us at the same time. What an exquisite way to burn…

Now… However… The lines had gone and died. Now, in this beautiful hollow paradise of wanting, I was now free to long for her. I didn't have to satisfy this loneliness and impatience with nameless, faceless nobodies who presented a minor challenge for me. I loved her; I still do despite what she's done. It only hurts me because I know that no matter how many drugs she takes or how many guys she brings to her bed, she'll never really get rid of the knowledge that she had played a large part in my death.

"I have a secret to tell you, too."

I leaned closer, my voice quivering from the great and hollow feeling of losing her, I know I will never get to touch her once again; even just the simplest contact would never be possible. The window was opened, and it would stay like that between us from now on. To love her, to hate her and to ache for her touch was hell for me since the latter was a craving I'd never get to fill. Maybe this what my version of hell was like, maybe that was why I was here instead of toasting marshmallows and laughing along with Satan in the fiery bonfire below.

"Annette and I would have never lasted. She's not you, and I'll never be contented with anybody else." I had to be pleased with this, with being able to see her the way I did that day… If what they say is true, if time really is irrelevant when you have eternity to spare, then that's the only memory I will ever want to know. Annette would move on, I'm sure of it. She might have loved me but I know that years from now she'll have that family she's always longed for. Annette Hargrove would marry a man who was pure and kind, all the things I never was and never would become.

Despite the sudden turn of events, I will cherish my time with Annette as well. She's taught me a lot, she was the first person to help me see that feeling something was a concept not to be feared and avoided the way Kathryn would have done. She was beautiful, pure and every bit of the girl I loved and I had loved her indeed. I loved Annette the way a petulant boy starved for attention would love the first person to stop and make him feel that he existed.

Now I understand… It would take death for me to finally make sense of things, but I finally know. I suppose I should go to her now, but something held me back. This particular tragedy would never cut into her the way it did to Kathryn and I knew it. Kathryn needed me more, she wanted me more, and looking at her tears and the way she broke down, she loved me more as well. I was where I belonged… Funny how I realized it only now.

Mine. She was, is mine, as I am to her. The word tasted foreign in my mouth and became incomprehensible in my mind as I had never really associated her with that word in the past. The battle wounds have been cut too deep to heal and she would spend the rest of her life finding ways to numb to pain just as I would keep finding ways to feel her breath on my neck, her hand on my own, or even her discerning gaze pierce through me once again.

Kathryn and I laid there for hours, and even as her sobs turned into the sounds of sleep, I still stayed as long as I dared, hoped, and wanted to. This was the Kathryn people never saw, this was the one I loved and valued among anything and anyone else. I felt something wet trickle down my cheek, and at first I thought it was the blood from the cut I had sustained from the accident but I surprisingly found out that my wounds have all healed, to be replaced by a light feeling that had been shadowed by the thought of leaving Kathryn.

I touched the moisture on my skin and inspected my finger, realizing I was crying.

_Sebastian Valmont, asshole extraordinaire, the jerk who ruined countless lives and broke half of the female population's hearts with so much as a bored look on his handsome face was crying._

"Bitch." I muttered, wiping my crystal blue eyes slowly.

A soft sigh escaped her full lips, as if she was giving an acknowledgement to me. I love her, I hate her, and I want to be with her.

What is my version death really like? Do you really want to know? This is such a sad story that even I, with all my indifference, am affected in ways I would have never let it affect me had I been given a chance. Death is realizing the secrets that, if only they had been revealed to me in time, would have probably changed my life. Death is regretting, finally cursing whoever it was out there for everything I should have done but never did. It was ironic, the twisted end to a fucked up tale. I started to cry for the first time in a decade, my arms automatically holding Kathryn and orienting my body to fit hers, just like I knew it would. Her sheets were covered in blood, and while I knew it would heal in a few days, Kathryn would permanently be scarred. The wounds would never heal.

How do I know this? Because that's how I am right now, that's how much it fucking hurts. I know because I'm undergoing the exact same thing on a different plane of living, I know because years from now, as I would watch her walk down the aisle with a smile that never reached her perfect green eyes, her body adorned in an elegant white dress that made her look like a vision, I'll come up with the realization that I would never stop wanting her, just as her nightmares of me with disturbing flashes of red and yellow would never stop as well.

During these nights of frightening circumstances, I go to her and tell her stories. I speak of what I've learned from wallowing in eternity, from the trivial realizations to the profound knowledge I had acquired. I tell her I love her each time and I confess that I have no plans of breaking my promise; I have no plans to stop wanting her.

Somehow this act soothes her, and her tears are reduced to quiet whimpers. I can only hope against hope that my words are interlaced in those awful dreams I want so badly to erase from her subconscious. Sometimes, I succeed, and I am able to give her a memory I love… Sometimes she sees herself the way I see her… Broken, but still very much beautiful and adored.


	2. Downfall

** Chapter 2: Downfall**

_**"All sense of where I am, of who I am and where I'm going, has been swallowed by the dark. And I walk through the stars and sky, a trinity of dreams beneath the moon."**_

**-Neil Gaiman **

She's married now, or have I told you that? I'm still here, still begging for a chance to let her know that I've returned to her.

_'Don't do it, Sebastian.'_ She once told me, her expression placid and tone foreboding, the way a mother would tell a warning to her son to never play with matches. Well, being the hardheaded moron that I was then, I failed to heed her warning, and we both fell... And how Kathryn and I did fall from the towering pedestal we'd resided in. I plunged to my death while she died silently, the vestiges of emotion drained out of her as soon as the seed of malice I had inadvertently planted into Annette during our brief intercourse grew, and before I knew it, I was screaming at everybody to leave Kathryn alone as two diamond drops of liquid fell from her disbelieving eyes. It wasn't the fact that she was ruined, or even the fact that everybody else knew her dirty little secrets while the very people she'd spent her entire life pleasing and smiling at stared at her with a mixture of disgust and anger while they held a cheap copy of my once prized possession and I knew it. She cried because it was MY words that crucified her, it had been MY thoughts that stained her, it was MY illustrations, MY labels, MY knives that plunged deeper into her until she was almost as dead as I was. She cried because she failed to see herself the way I really did after reality had been stripped from my grasp by that evil incident called my unfortunate demise. She slowly melted away because it was at that point that she realized I was gone, that this wasn't another joke or some twisted revenge in which I would pop out from behind the pillars of my would have been alma mater and laugh at her, Kathryn fell because she knew that the casket wouldn't be empty. It wouldn't be full of rocks to make the illusion that I was inside, it would be _me_ in there. Dressed in my favorite black suit with the silk blue tie that she'd once commented brought out the deceptive blues of my eyes. She never looked inside because she was afraid to see me looking so still, my eyes forever shut in a peaceful slumber and a smirk no longer on my deathly pale face. Sebastian Valmont, the legendary hero who made the ultimate sacrifice... Lying so still when in fact I would have never slept that long. Kathryn always said I had too much of the urge to tempt the boundaries of life, thus the lack of fondness for sleep. She was right. Now I never sleep. Now I watch her, observe her, and love her. Just as I had done in the past.

I suppose you could ask me why I'm being so benevolent when in fact I should hate the fiery green eyed woman who took my life. You see, by the publishing of that wretched journal, I've gotten her back for her manipulation. She could see it, my hand reaching from the expensive casket to give her the last 'Fuck you' I would ever give her. It hurt her more than dying ever could, and I knew it. Did I want it to happen? Of course. Don't underestimate the anger of a betrayed man, even when I realized she cared for me, I still hated her because of her involvement in all of this. But when that moment came, when Cecile Caldwell came up to her and handed her the small book with a smug smile on her face, I wanted to snatch it from her and tear it into a million, unrecognizable pieces. These were lies, misconceptions of a complex individual society would never understand. Why had death provided me with so many answers that I would never be able to put into use? I stood beside her that fateful day of my wake, by her side as I had always been, only this time, she never saw me. I'd come back and I'd come back for_ her_, but did it even matter? She cried against me as I held her without ever feeling her tremble with guilt and loss and without her knowing that the very person who'd said all those awful things about her was right there, repentant and as guilt ridden as she was. I yelled at those judgmental fools who based their perception of her from the words of a frustrated, angry man when in fact everybody knew angry words are lies that should never be uttered. I screamed until my throat got hoarse because she had been silenced by my messy handwriting, I fought for her, tried to slap Dean Hargrove's hand from taking her cherished crucifix from her hand when it was now the only familiar companion she had in the world. I wanted to punch my father and murder Tiffany Merteuil, who looked appalled instead of saddened at her darling daughter's social downfall. Kathryn killed me and I killed her back, this sick and twisted game disguising the forbidden love we'd secretly felt had spiraled out of control and for once, we were both utterly powerless to stop it. I could yell and cry out until I died another death and she could stand still frozen for eternity, but it wouldn't change anything. I was dead and she killed me. I was gone and I've taken her happiness to my grave. That scene alone will haunt me for as long as I remain with Kathryn, and even now, as the scandal of the unmasking of Kathryn Merteuil had faded over the years, I still see her sad, young face, green eyes filled with tears at the devastation we'd caused each other.

During the last time I spoke to you, I told you of her marriage. That beautiful, ethereal vision of purity and chastity that secretly housed an empty shell of a woman who breathed but never lived. She still has nightmares, she has a husband who loves her but doesn't understand her, so instead, he masks the pain of being unable to reach out to his enigmatic beautiful wife by immersing himself in business matters. He makes more money than he could ever spend, and he spoils her the way even I would have done. He has my respect, and mind you, my respect is difficult to earn. He's never hurt her, laid a hand on her, or even screamed at her. I knew Kathryn would marry well, I knew she would never become like her mother, who turned the other way while her husband fucked around. She was tainted, but she had never been stupid. He spends his time away from her, loving her from afar as I do because he doesn't witness the awful dreams now. He's tired of it, of Kathryn letting him hold her for a few minutes only to be pushed away once again as soon as she gets herself together. The ache for her affections reached that point wherein he couldn't be around her anymore, and he just got up one morning and left to acquire more wealth, the only thing he could ever really give to my stepsister that she would take. Bastard. I understand him, but I hate him at the same time. Still, when he comes back to her during moments of desperation and blind love, she allows him to touch her, as if she too understood how painful it was to love someone you could never touch. She allows him inside of her body, and he nearly goes weak when her pink lips part open as he kisses her. She was his weakness, his undoing. He wishes he could get through to her somehow, her husband would do anything to understand the blank stares outside the window of their exclusive Manhattan penthouse. Her small hand reaches up to his dark hair afterwards and she absentmindedly wraps bits and pieces of it around her fingers, curling it and somehow wishing it would turn that dark blond color and the curls would stay intact. I've watched her whisper my name when she knows he's in too deep of his maddening love for her to realize that his wife was really wrapped around the memory of me, kept alive and preserved more than any kind of journal could ever have done.

When she feels sorry for him, she answers when he professes his love for her, only she stares into my blue eyes while her green irises are gazing into his very different colored hopeful stare. Then she tells me she loves me, the name different but the sentiment very much directed to her dearly departed stepbrother, whom everybody else thinks she had killed. Sometimes, I inhabit him and I am disgusted with myself for doing so, for sinking to a level wherein I would wear another man's body just to feel her closing in on me, but these moments are rare and sudden. I live for these moments, when I could tell her that she is loved and that I died loving her. I never tell her exactly, because she's fragile enough as it is. Instead, I tell her I love her, I touch her as she wanted to be touched, her smooth body not at all complementing this strange man's the way it would have done with mine. Strangely enough, as it is with her dreams, she seems to understand sometimes, and she lets my name slip out of her mouth in silence. But I hear her. I hear her every time and I am reborn once again, accepting this fate as my personal juxtaposition of paradise and hell. It doesn't matter. As long as I feel her for the merest of milliseconds, I am alive. Nothing so strong could ever keep pulling us apart for so long, and until that day arrives, and _I know_ that it will, I'll be right here waiting. Kathryn and I may have been knocked off our pedestal, but we'd go back there someday. Why? It's not because we're twisted or even the fact that we're nothing without the other, the two halves she once spoke of, it's because we belong there, and not even death or my brief love for Annette Hargrove could ever stand in the way.


	3. Chance

**Chapter 3: Chance**

_**"If you bring me back to life, my death will have no meaning. I had a fine existence. I was a good place. I spent a little time in the waking world. I even fell in love, once, a little. I lived a good life and it ended. Would you take that away from me?"**_

**-Fiddler's Green, in SANDMAN #70, part one of "The Wake" **

Death is merely a beginning, or so I've learned. I don't know if it's my patience that's got the attention of everybody else who knew, or if my immense craving for her had gotten to a point wherein just by looking at me, you could tell that I've degraded my self esteem by possessing her husband's body just to have her look at me, as opposed to through me. Anyhow, after years of silence, someone came to me today.

You can only imagine the shock I felt to have someone talk to me again, after a long time of having one sided conversations with everybody else. I've never been a firm believer of spiritual entities, but then again, I had never been a firm believer of life after death, so there goes the whole theory. She came to me, my deceased mother, the kindness in her blue eyes piercing through me. The interaction was sudden; I had been taking a walk, oblivious to everything else when she called my name.

"Sebastian."

A sudden chill came over me, it's been seven years since I've been acknowledged and I was not at all used to it by now. Still, I turned my head, cautiously, as though I feared this would be some demon that had come to torment me in my current state of being. What I saw melted away the busy New York streets, the people faded away and there was a sound of immense silence as my jaw dropped open and I stared at her. The only kind, understanding face of my childhood, long, wavy blond hair and the same blue eyes only mine were full of mysteries and hers carried a burden I could never fully comprehend. My mother, looking the way I exactly remembered her, dressed in an elegant white dress, the one she knew I liked best on her. I used to go to her room as a child, when the world was so much simpler and women weren't on my agenda yet. After being dressed up in one of those tailor made suits made for men but fit me just to watch her smile at me and tell me that I was going to break a lot of hearts someday, and I'd laugh and tell her I would never do that. Breaking hearts were cruel, it was what my father did to my mother each time he'd call from work to tell her he won't be coming home for the night while there was that inaudible girlish giggle in the background. And she'd ruffle my hair and kiss my forehead gently, each time telling me that she loved me and that I should never forget that.

I haven't. As I grew up, I dropped by her room less and less until I didn't come in at all. When she died, I cried for the first time, my eight year old body shook with silent sobs while the stranger I called my father stood stoically beside me with a hand on my shoulder. To the other mourners of Mrs. Valmont's death, we were the very picture of familial love. This was not the case. My father's hand was on my shoulder for a different purpose. His grip tightened until I nearly gasped out in pain. He was telling me not to cry, I was embarrassing all the other Valmont men who'd gone and died before us. It was simply not acceptable. And so, without the guidance of my mother, I was slowly molded into becoming the man I despised the most. By then I was too preoccupied with women, the rush of taking away their innocence with acts of pleasure causing me a high like no other. I had done what my mother had foretold I would. I was breaking hearts, avoiding phone calls, and making empty promises just to lure them into my bed. My transition through the years was what every young boy would envy, I was never awkward nor gawky, I've never had the need for braces nor acne cream, I was refined, elegant and my movements slow and deliberate. The snake who charmed his way into women's hearts. By the age of fifteen I was quite sure the rest of my life would be comprised of challenges that weren't challenges at all. Women were mine for the taking, and how I took them all so lightly.

That is, until that one fateful day when my father brought home another blonde, but that was where the similarity with my mother ended. This particular woman was wearing a tight smile on her even tighter face, and I was sure that she had had one plastic surgery too many.

"Sebastian, this is Tiffany Merteuil." my father said proudly, as though he'd had the catch of the season with this pained looking woman who had probably once been beautiful but was now only a shadow of it. As we sat down for dinner, my mind was wandering about which latest conquest I would undertake, would it be another senior girl or one of those cheerleaders who never had anything intelligent to say but was quite flexible in bed? After minutes of playing listlessly with my food, something moved in my peripheral vision and as I followed the movement, I found myself staring into the darkest, saddest and greenest eyes I had ever seen. There was something about her, this girl seemed to be my age, but the way she moved, we might as well have been years apart. That was the first time I ever saw Kathryn, and it was also the first time I found myself invariably tongue tied and my movements inexplicably slower and more hesitant.

"I'm sorry about my tardiness, mother. I had a little trouble with Claude today."

Claude? Who the fuck was Claude? A boyfriend? My mind had stopped wandering, now it was focused entirely on her, on this ravishing creature, this woman-child, the living, breathing porcelain doll Tiffany Merteuil had somehow made. Tiffany's eyebrows raised in disapproval and merely commented to my father that Kathryn was an equestrian and had more blue ribbons that any girl her age had. A horse. I remember heaving a sigh of relief, even though having a boyfriend had never stopped me from seducing.

"Kathryn, this is Edward Valmont and his son Sebastian."

My father glanced at her appreciatively, her beauty not at all lost on the old man. I must admit I was the same thing, only I stood up and shook her hand. The first time we'd touched each other was nothing magical, but I can still recall how her small hand fit well into mine, how a small smile, a real one, had tugged at her pink lips as she tucked a stray of soft brown hair behind her ear.

It was the beginning of everything. The Sebastian Valmont and Kathryn Merteuil legacy. I was smitten, driven with lust and infatuation for her. When we would have breakfast, lunch, dinner, or any kind of function that would require her presence, I would attend it. There was still that secret smile on her beautiful face when she realized that I was there as well, as if she knew I was pursuing her. The eternal challenge, the start of a lifelong obsession even death would never take from me. I could never really talk to her because she was always being whisked away by her mother to be bragged about, how this girl managed to achieve every damn thing escaped me. So, after one particularly long and tedious night at another charity function, I decided to leave and call it a night. Most fifteen year olds wouldn't have had a Porsche, but I wasn't and had never been like anybody else. It was a gift from my father, a bribe to refrain from seducing and breaking his girlfriend's daughter's heart. I took it only too happily, failing to mention that I would never do that, regardless of a car or not. My 1956 Jaguar Roadster was still miles away from me, resting and waiting for me to claim it when I turned sixteen. I tugged the tie off my now trademark dark suit, contemplating whether to take one of those insipid society girls home for a quick fuck when the other door opened, and there was a flash of brown hair and green eyes that jumped inside. Before I knew it, her small, pale hands had pulled me to her, and we were kissing. That did me in. I was drowning myself into her, the scent of her hair permanently lingering in my nostrils, marveling at the softness of everything that was her. She ran her hands through my hair, twisting it into little curls that way she does to her husband's hair when she allows him to own her for a brief while, her lips sweet and tainted with the champagne she'd secretly been drinking. My hands shook, staying on her face and on her waist, its usual lascivious nature gone because I was scared to make a single wrong move that would stop this madness. Finally, she pulled away, mouth parted open, green eyes twinkling with mischief and chest breathing heavily.

"Goodnight, Sebastian." she said sweetly, leaving as quickly as she came in. I started the car and drove off, knowing she'd be watching for my reaction, the reputed playboy stumped to silence by a socialite's perfect little angel. After making sure there was nobody else in sight, I pulled over and turned the engine off, my heart still pounding from the sensation of her mouth on mine. I was drunk off her scent, off the champagne sweetness of her moist, warm lips. I was inexplicably drawn to her, and I knew at that point that I would gladly give up every single woman in the world just to have her and to keep on having her.

I still reeled from the events of the previous night when I stared across the table at her, and there it was. The unwavering smile on her pretty face, the way her emerald stare hypnotically pulled me in. We were lost in our world, a secret world that was inhabited by nobody else save myself and her. I was about to ask her to join me for a walk around the grounds when my father spoke the words that would forever crush and stain this secret world I had only deliriously discovered just last night.

"We're getting married!"

I saw her face fall, and I'm pretty sure my own features had contorted into disappointment, anger and nausea. The smile had left her face, the twinkle faded from her eyes and that mask of indifference once again covering her beauty. I scowled at my father while Kathryn politely congratulated the two, didn't they know what they'd just done? I tried to get her alone, to talk to her about this obstacle that had reared its ugly head between us, but she never allowed me. So I stopped trying, but the hope still remained. The wedding preparations were swift, just as any wealthy marriage would go. The day of our parents' wedding, she came with a date, a wealthy East Coast preppy who couldn't stop staring at her. She didn't look at me throughout the entire ceremony, preferring to keep her stare solely directed on our parents, who was unknowingly committing an act that would forever doom their children to a life of forbidden wanting. During the reception, I couldn't take it anymore. Her silence was killing me, her teasing glances and affection for her date caused me a rather large amount of jealousy.

"Kathryn, can I talk to you?"

She looked surprised at my sudden approach, yet she gently extricated herself from me. "I'm busy at the moment, Sebastian."

Let me explain, at the age of fifteen she still wasn't The Kathryn Merteuil, although it had been starting to form. She wasn't the seductress, the instigator of malice and mischief the way she had been in her later years. She was still polite, pleasant, and driven to succeed to attempt to meet up to her mother's neverending expectations. She still tried.

"Please." The calmness of my voice was somewhere between anxious and still, and she sensed it. Kathryn sighed, still keeping her gaze averted from my own searching blue eyes as she excused herself from the table. I led her to the gardens where we could be alone and away from the prying eyes of society who would now disapprove because of our relation by law.

She looked at me expectantly and I could only bite my lip at how sad she really looked, so this was why she wouldn't look at me all throughout the ceremony. She was as angry and hollowed as I was while our parents professed their love for one another.

"We can't do this anymore." my now stepsister was the one to speak first, rubbing her arms against her bare shoulders from the wind. I took my coat off and gently wrapped it around her, my jaw clenching at the sight of her looking vulnerable and torn. That's the Kathryn you don't know and will never know. That's the Kathryn I loved, that's the girl that was ommitted from the pages of that leather bound notebook.

"I agree." I replied, the close proximity of our bodies not at all agreeing with my words.

"We're related now." she whispered, my arms not leaving as it stayed wrapped around her.

"I suppose so." I murmured in reply, drawing myself closer.

"But you'll never stop, won't you, Sebastian? No matter what happens?"

A question of commitment, the very same thing I'd spent my life avoiding. Despite this, despite the fear of committing myself to one person for the rest of my young life, somehow I realized that no matter what I said, no matter how much I denied it, I never really would stop wanting her.

"Never." I promised her, and she succumbed to me. She gave in not to this attempt at seduction, but to this display of uncharacteristic love I was as surprised as she was that I showed. We kissed, slowly, deliberately hidden from the world that would never understand. I ached for her, just as much as I ache for her now. But we both knew that once we gave in to the demands of our bodies, we would never be able to keep away from each other. So we pulled away before I could feel her around me, and I felt a strange moisture on my cheeks from where her face had touched. There were slow, beautiful tears that filled her large eyes and I could feel myself shatter into a million pieces as I tried to reassure her that I would be hers, her persevering lover and admirer, for as long as she wanted me to. I took out a white handkerchief and gently dried her tears, a pained smile on my Kathryn wanting lips as I tried not to run back to the reception and murder everyone in sight. Was this my karma for breaking all those hearts? Was this my punishment, to reside under the same roof with the unattainable female I'd soon resort to fucking different girls just to be numbed around her? That was the last time we'd kissed, really kissed. She handed my coat back to me and headed back into the party, back into the waiting arms of her date and I back to my room only to lay down the cold bed and stare blankly at the ceiling while everybody else rejoiced downstairs. Even years later, when Kathryn would ask me where I went after we'd gone to the gardens, she assumed I had gone and fucked one of those beautiful airheads present at the party, and I would neither deny nor correct her. It was better for her to think that way.

Tiffany and Kathryn moved into the Valmont townhouse and her daughter took the blue and gold paneled room directly opposite mine, her naught filled hidden smile catching my eye when she announced it was her room of choice. It wasn't until she was sixteen that she'd started bringing boys home, and I continued that dull routine of bedding females. Sometimes, we'd argue and fight, mostly with thrown objects and hateful words that only stemmed from jealousy. I'd be jealous of every Tom, Dick and Harry she'd allowed to touch her and she'd be jealous of Heather, Eliza, or Joan that I'd sometimes bring to dinner at home and fuck later on. After this, we'd stop, and the tradition of her sneaking out from her room to climb into the barren bed with me began. She would leave the snoring young man who slept naked in her room and creep into mine, the movement of the sheets awakening me as her warm body cuddled against mine. Mostly we'd just talk, and we'd never have sex. She was on the verge of becoming cold and manipulative, yet she was still my Kathryn. Already, she'd started taking joy out of the ruination of those who crossed her, but when night fell and she came into my room, I'd wrap my arms around her and she'd play with my hair as if she was still the same fifteen year old woman-child who'd kissed me for the first time that night. We'd talk in murmurs, scared that somebody might hear us from outside and ban her from setting foot into my bedroom ever again. When I fell asleep, she'd leave the room and come back to hers before anybody could catch us asleep on the same bed.

That's why I love her. That's what _you_ don't understand about us. You think you can summarize our entire lives based on that damned journal? There's so much more to it than you'll ever know.

Everything changed in one night. It was the last day of school, and she had declined her mother's offer to accompany her to Paris because she claimed she wanted to spend her time with the charity organizations, but we both knew she wanted to spend her summer with me. I had brought Jean Winterthorpe home, a red haired eighteen year old college student who ignored my age and knew only of my reputation. In the midst of immense lust, she told me to tell her that I loved her, and I did. I loved her body, how she drove me to new heights of pleasure only an experienced woman like Jean could ever give me. The moment those three words slipped from my mouth, there was an unmistakable patter of footsteps and my door slammed, only to be followed by another slam of her door this time. Shit. I quickly pushed a breathless half naked Jean aside and grabbed my boxers, running out to the hallway to knock on her door.

"Kathryn, please open up."

Her voice, unmistakably sharp and icy cold. "Fuck off, Sebastian."

I begged her, alternating from fury to placation, I pounded against the door until my fists were red and my knuckles almost bled. It was an unspoken rule between us, never to use that word despite its commonality, we had never said that word to anybody else, not even to each other and I had broken it. She never opened the door and I fell asleep in the hallway only to wake up and realize that she'd gone to Paris with her mother.

When she came back, she was The Kathryn Merteuil, merciless, numb, and sporting that cursed hollow crucifix. There was a hollowness of her cheeks, a sure sign that she'd started taking drugs. I took her aside to explain what had happened and she only laughed at my face mockingly, saying she was never bothered by such things and would never be bothered again from now on._ "Tell every fucking pussy that you love her and I wouldn't give a damn."_ Those were her exact words, and it hurt. Thus, began the second part of our twisted relationship. That of games and manipulation, the affectionate past seemingly forgotten. It was safer to bitch and annoy each other, because the anger never allowed us to get hurt. She no longer snuck into my room but I would sometimes go into hers when she was asleep if only to observe her for the couple of minutes wherein she looked like the sixteen year old she was before she left for Paris.

What tangled webs we indeed weave.

"Sebastian." my mother called out faintly again, disrupting my reverie. I snapped back into attention, the image of sixteen year old Kathryn temporarily leaving my mind as I walked towards her, dazed.

"What-What's going on?" my own confused voice sounded so lost as she wrapped her arms around me, giving me the affection I'd been missing as the time passed. She was smaller than I'd remembered, but there was still that warm feeling of being in that secure zone with her.

In the blink of an eye, we were back in Kathryn's room, watching as her husband fixed his tie and she automatically pulled on a red dress that made her husband stop fixing his tie to give her another longing stare, like a dog begging to be loved.

"Is this what you really want?" she asked gently, her presence making me feel less alone.

I nodded, staring sadly at my stepsister, the love of my many lives. "Is it even possible?"

What my mother said next shocked, excited, frightened, and made me nearly drop dead all over again.

"Perhaps."


	4. Breathe

**Chapter 4: Breathe  
**

**_"The garden of Destiny. You would know it if you saw it. After all, you will wander it until you die. Or beyond. For the paths are long, and even in death there is no ending to them."_**

** -Neil Gaiman**

It's probably that single word that scared me. _Perhaps._ What did that mean? This is as confusing for me as it probably is for you, because the stories you might have heard about Kathryn and me haven't delved into this strange area of esoteric magnitude. You've heard of manipulations, betrayals, cruelty, sex, power, wealth, and beauty. Maybe even love, if you've gotten around.

Granted, most of them are probably true and most of them are definitely exaggerated, but this... We're both explorers in this particular type of atmosphere. This is a tale of irony, death, and yes, love in its primeval sense. The kind that makes you bleed until you die, and even when you die, you still bleed some more. The kind that's too special to be blatantly displayed for the entire world to see, but rather, it had to be cultivated secretly, in the deep recesses of one's souls, in that place between reality and illusions, because the feeling, although of Biblical proportions, was as real as the pain Kathryn and I both masked during our life together.

Did I want to be with Kathryn somehow? Fuck yes… It was the question I'd been asking myself ever since I met her, and the answer had never changed.

_You'll never stop won't you, Sebastian? No matter what happens? _

_Never. _

But still, the rational part of me wondered. Nothing in the world was ever free, and this, this surely had a catch. But what? Was my mother waiting for me to sell my soul to Satan for a chance to go back to Kathryn? Was she ever my mother at all, or was she some physical manifestation of a demented demon that sought to tear me from this indeterminate state?

My mother reappeared as I stared listlessly at the frozen pond, the coldness not at all bothering me. It was, under any circumstance, a beautiful day; I was alone because nobody else could stand the extremity of the frigid weather. I grew up in coldness. My heart had, for years and years, been clutched by the hands of the proverbial ice princess, the red, raw organ encased in a sheer glass with a thin layer of frost. I lived with Kathryn Merteuil, remember?

If I were alive, I would have had my camera in my hand. Most of my conquests would tell you that I used it as a weapon to get them to take off their clothes, and while this had been one of the purposes of owning it, I usually told them not to flatter themselves too much. I owned it because I secretly searched for the embodiment of beauty, of life, and to just capture a visual sense of what it would feel like to exist amidst a world of contradictions and harsh realities. If you'll go to my house and enter my darkroom (which, until now, remains as I had left it), you'll see that this was beyond seduction. I took photographs of things and people that reminded me of the side I've tried to hide from her for fear that she would deem me pathetic. My eyes see what nobody else sees, be it the great beauty of a simple thing like an empty garden, or the view from my Aunt Helen's estate… Truly a paragon of splendor, I wish you would be able to visit it as well. For the ordinary person, it would have been an awe inspiring sight of colored flowers blooming under the smiling sunlight, spread against the deepest green backdrop of soft grass, the type that softly tickled your bare feet. To me, it was beautiful because of the meaning I had attached there. It was the garden where I spent the betterment of my youth; it was where I'd pondered on many things aside from sex… It was my place of solitude, an escape for the otherwise bleary, colorful world of fast living and meaningless physical connections. It was where Kathryn and I kissed for the first time as stepsiblings, the two of us hating that lurid label. I would have loved to take Kathryn there. I'm sure she would have loved it. Well, she would but she'd first roll her eyes at me and smirk at how pussywhipped I was being. I can't help it. I love her. You might call me stupid if you've read that journal, a moron if you're Annette Hargrove and the countless other nobodies who took joy in her downfall, and downright ridiculous, if you're Blaine Tuttle, who never really understood my fucked up relationship with the elusive Kathryn Merteuil.

Nietschze said: _'There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.'_ Well, what other reason could I give? You don't see her as I do; therefore it's easy to judge.

"This catch you mentioned…" I started, finally taking my blue eyes off the thick blanket of snow that covered everything else. Have you ever noticed how snow makes everything look so clean? It was almost as if it was a reminder that the world never stays innocent for long, because after the snow melts away, the world is a garish, dark, and dismal place once again.

She sat beside me, placing her hand on my own. "Yes?"

"How bad is it?"

She regarded me with caution, her ethereal face suddenly filled with worry lines. "Most people have never taken the risk, Sebastian. The effect itself… It's worse than hell. The others who foolishly take it without hearing the consequences beg for an undoing, or they kill themselves."

"Explain."

"Kathryn has a lot of pain hidden in her, I'm sure you're well aware of that."

"Of course I am."

"Then you must be aware that her father died when she was three and her stepfather molested her repeatedly when she was nine. Kathryn started taking drugs when she was twelve, she's tried to kill herself twice, and have thought about trying again after you were gone."

"What!" I hollered, my voice echoing in the stillness of the world. "She was what! She did what!"

Her blue eyes stared sadly at her hands as she fidgeted, "If you come back, you'll feel the effect of her misery, unbridled and, honey, it _will_ hurt. It's like undergoing the death of thousands of people who are dying in different ways, all at the same time."

"I don't understand…"

"This purpose of returning, it's about her, therefore, you're bound to her. You'll share her pain, feel all the ways she'd been hurt. This will happen every night, and even though it might last for minutes, it would seem like eternity. I've spoken to people who've lived and died through it, and they all tell me the same thing… You'll want to take a knife and cut yourself just so you won't feel it anymore. Most of them did that after feeling it the first time… It's the kind of agony that's soul hurt, a sacrifice that not everybody makes. Your insides explode, your eyes see all that she sees when she's in moments of pain, and you'll scream and yell and curse. It's worse than death, and if you kill yourself, you…" she winced, her eyes pleading me to stay here, to continue this hollow living rather than risking losing me.

"Go to hell." I finished, cringing at the thought of spending eternity there.

"Don't do it, Sebastian." My mother begged, "It's not worth it."

_Don't do it, Sebastian. _

_I-I'm willing to take my chances. _

"Yes," I paused, wondering what it would feel like to kiss Kathryn again. There was fear in my instincts and hope in my heart, the latter overcoming the former. "it is. I'll be there for as long as she wants me to."

"There's a purpose about why you're being offered this chance."

I smiled wryly, "Is it because God took pity on my pathetic display of devotion?"

Mom shook her head, looking sadder than she'd ever been. "No. You'll have to find out for yourself."

There it was. That worried look on her face again, but I chose to ignore it. Instead, I did something I'd never done ever since I was a child. I reached over and hugged her, proceeding to kiss her forehead. She smiled through her tears and told me of a man, a painter living in a decrepit loft about to commit suicide. His name was Calyx Damian, a handsome albeit tortured artist who'd spent three years of his life in solitude. His frustration for the utter hopelessness of society had inspired angry paintings and wide notoriety, this Calyx fellow had sold paintings to avid millionaire collectors and had been in the middle of his last one when he was driven by that deep rooted depression and slashed his wrist. He was brilliant, my mother had told me, bringing me to a place where paint was scattered everywhere. A muscular but thin body laid shaking and writhing on the ground, his left wrist open. I averted my gaze to the disturbing sight of the blood mingling with the fallen canvas, watching in perverse fascination as Calyx's green eyes stared blankly at the ceiling while he waited for his life to end. His long, light blond hair was matted with blood, his face covered in a thick beard that made him look old despite his young age… Twenty seven maybe? What kind of stupid asshole, who made millions of dollars just from a single painting, would off himself?

"He's tired." She answered, as if reading my mind. "His views on the world stifle him."

There was a faint form of a man appearing near the painter's body, the shape becoming clearer as Calyx Damian's writhing form slowed its movements. He was leaving his body. I met a pair of confused green eyes, startled at the complexity and brilliance that I saw within them. If this Calyx fellow had died at the same time as I did, I would have wanted to have a conversation with him. I was hungry for all that he knew, because he was obviously very insightful.

"Are you ready, Sebastian?" she whispered, and Calyx cast another look at his now still body before looking back at me.

"You're taking my place, aren't you?"

I could only nod, surprised at his peculiarly sharp comprehension.

The painter smiled, and it was a sad, relieved smile. "I hope you see the world better than I ever did."

The door opened and a woman is staring at the lifeless body with the color drained from her face, but before I could ask Calyx who it was, I felt myself getting sucked in by this fierce whirlpool of howling winds and I was plunged into darkness.

---

I woke up five hours later and the sight of a hospital room greeted me. Swallowing thickly, my eyes blink rapidly and I take a moment to try to calm myself despite this urge to yell and scream and let the world know that Sebastian Valmont had surpassed death in his own fucked up way. The sensation of being alive and feeling again, at that moment wasn't all that pleasant. My wrist was heavily bandaged and my speech was slurred as I called to the nurse, this obviously was from the drugs. My face itched from all that facial hair and I was just about to reach out to the mirror when the door opened and the same woman who'd found me, or rather, Calyx's body, came in with a worried look on her face.

There was the smooth feeling of air going through my nostrils and into my lungs, the air was my drug, an aphrodisiac of the living... How great it felt to be looked at again.

She wasn't extraordinarily beautiful like Kathryn or any of the other conquests I've had was, but it was the warmth in her voice, the kindness and worry in her dark irises, that immediately made me trust this woman.

" Cal," she said softly, "How're you holding up?"

She was treating me like I've tried this before, and maybe Calyx Damian had. But I was through with that, consequences of my return be damned, I wasn't going to let my life get stolen from me again. Suddenly, my (now) green eyes closed and I felt as if I were sharing the body with Calyx's memories. I suddenly knew everything about him, and this woman before me was his agent and long time friend, Rita Wills. He trusted her with his life, and she'd helped him with his career even when he was living on the streets and painting murals on the walls as a teenager.

"Rita," my voice wasn't snide or condescending in its lilt, but then again, it would definitely take a lot of getting used to. "I can honestly tell you that I'm never doing that again."

"That's what you said in the five successive times you've tried." She sighed, taking a seat beside me. Her short hair was spiked up, black eyes narrowed in concern. I suspected she might have been attracted to Calyx Damian in the past, but now only worried about him. "You have to attend that tonight, remember? It's in your honor because you've sold more paintings than any other artist for the past year."

"How much?"

"Thirty million dollars."

Thirty million dollars. Hmm… It wasn't exactly my trust fund or my inheritance, but it would do. I had wanted to go to Kathryn's house, but thought against it. What would I tell her anyway? It's not like I could come up to her and kiss her and tell her that I was Sebastian. No, I had to get used to this first… Which is why, after dismissing Rita's completely bewildered look, I went home, bandages and all. Painting was something I wasn't used to, but parties, however, were.

Hold on, Kat. I'm almost there. I'll come get you, I promise.

---

I was late for the party because I had spent hours on a painting. My wrist hurt like hell and I had chosen to wear a Rolex (after a little shopping trip to replace the disgusting threads the former inhabitant wore) to hide the gash on my wrist. My mind still went back to the particular mixture of hatred, green, brown, blue, yellow, and red that had been spilled on the canvas, so this was how much he'd obsessed over his work. As soon as I spotted Rita, I smiled cockily and raised my hands, quite enjoying the utter shock on her face when she saw how different I appeared. I had on a suit, my hair cut and my face smooth, free of that disgusting beard Calyx had had. In fact, right now, the body of Calyx Damian now looked like it belonged into Sebastian Valmont's world, a world of power, beauty, and wealth.

"My God, is that a suit?" she said slowly, coming up to me and using a hand to place on my shoulder, checking to see if it was indeed real.

I shrugged innocently, "You told me it was a formal party."

"Did you bang your head while you tried to off yourself, Calyx?" she stuttered, her small mouth opening and closing. "You look…"

"Hot?"

"Well, yes. You seem different somehow… Freer in a way… It's like you lost something that's been bothering you." She laughed at her own words, not knowing how close she'd been to finding out. Grabbing my hand, she led me through a throng of people and we had to stop every once in a while because a lot of people wanted to congratulate me and to order more paintings. "I'll introduce you to a client." She called out and I complied obediently, my cheeks flushed from the vibrancy of being alive and acknowledged again.

We stopped before a man with a thick shock of dark hair and kind brown eyes, and my heart rate sped faster than it had ever been in my life, or rather, lives. I knew this man… I had possessed him when he made love to his wife.

"Mr. Preston, this is Calyx Damian."

Her voice was now unheard of, and I didn't even feel him shake my hand. I shook, no, trembled in anticipation at what I knew was coming next…

And then, there she was. Kathryn Merteuil-Preston, as beautifully shattered and poised as she'd ever been, owning the entire room with her poise and incredible confidence. As her husband called to her, our eyes met, mine now a different color but the meaning that was held in it was the same. She looked back with that unreadable look of hers as I did in my own brand of indifference; it was what we did even before I died. Rita and Blake weren't aware of this, but I certainly was. I felt like I wanted to jump out of this body and touch her, but I held myself back.

"Calyx, meet my wife Kathryn." He said proudly, taking pride in the fact that he was married to the most beautiful woman in the room that night. I didn't object to that fact.

My heart pounded while I grasped her dainty hand gently, never at all taking my eyes off her. She looked stunning, and there was a slight frown on her forehead, that pursed pout on her lips only meant that she was thinking deeply about something.

"Have we met before?" she asked, trying to look at me closer. "You seem familiar."

Rita and Blake wandered off to talk about completing his collection of my work and thankfully, I was left alone with her. I longed to be back in that place of bitchy remarks and bantering with my stepsister, but I had to tread carefully. As the music slowed down to a soft, classical tune that lingered in the entire room, I held out a hand, smiling at her.

"Dance with me."

Her eyebrows rose, obviously surprised. "You seem assured that I'd agree."

"Well, you would."

"Why is that?"

I smirked and I could see how the familiar smirk unnerved her a bit. Her gaze wavered for the merest seconds before returning to its usual apathy. "Because you're attracted to me."

"Why," she snapped back, glaring at me, "would I be attracted to bullshit painters who are obviously disturbed enough to try to commit suicide?"

"For the same reason that I'm attracted to the bitchy socialite trophy wife of some loser." I grabbed her hand and led her to the dance floor, grinning like an idiot when she didn't pull away. I could tell she missed this, this witty repartee that she'd shared only with me.

"I've met you before." She told me again slowly, my hands finding its way to the familiar slope of her bare back. The sensation of our skins once again touching made me deliriously happy, and while I know that this might seem trivial for you, it held so many more meanings for me. She placed her hands on my shoulders, her face tilted up to look at me.

"Maybe you have." I said, losing myself in her inquisitive gaze.

"Where?"

"In another life."

She laughed at this, and while it wasn't the real laugh she used when I had been in my own body before, it was a start. Her long brown hair hung in loose curls, her large dark emerald eyes the muse for my new work. Her hands traveled to the nape of my neck and before we both realized it, she was playing with my blond hair and I wondered if she maybe saw me as _me_ at that instant. I froze for a moment and she quickly pulled her hands back, "Sorry," she muttered, "I used to do that to someone… Force of habit."

"Who?"

"My stepbrother, Sebastian." How sad her eyes were at the mention of my name… Her mouth drooped a bit and even though it had been nearly a decade since my demise, the sadness remained fresh in her. "He died."

"I'm sorry about that." I answered, wanting nothing else but to kiss her.

She smiled politely, "Thank you."

This was not her. This was not Kathryn Merteuil. For her, there were two kinds of people, the ones she was polite to but mocked and loathed behind their backs, and the ones she loathed and bitched at but loved all the same. I used to belong to the latter… And I couldn't stand this fake manner now.

"You look beautiful tonight, Kathryn."

She was surprised at this, once again looking at me closer to see if we knew each other. "You seem comfortable with me," she observed, raising an eyebrow. "Too comfortable. Most of Blake's friends would call me Mrs. Preston."

"I'm not your husband's friend." I said, pulling her closer until she had no choice but to wrap her arms around my neck. Her dark olive eyes widened once again, and she could be thinking that this brazen painter full of surprises. The song ended, but I never let go, and she never stopped looking at me. She recognized the touch, but not the one who had initiated it, recognized the tone, but not the one who said it… She was so close.

"Whose friend are you, then?"

"Yours."

Her lips parted slightly, and I could almost feel myself kiss her. We were no longer related now, but there was still something that confined us both. There it was, that almost mocking smile, "I have no need for friends."

"What about Sebastian Valmont? Do you have a need for him?"

At the mention of that name, my former name, she visibly shook. The politeness of her features was now suddenly fiercer, angrier, and sharper. Her claws came out and she looked ready to scratch my eyes out. "I never told you his last name." she hissed, glaring at me. "Who the fuck are you?"

"Meet me tonight."

"What?"

I looked at her, memorizing the delicateness of her profile, almost laughing and crying out loud because my frustrations at having to touch her had been minimized. Still, there was another matter. I was not dark blond, my hair wasn't curly, I didn't have blue eyes and a full mouth. I wasn't born and raised in the Upper East Side elite, I wasn't educated in Manchester Prep, and I had never read about Plato or Kafka, or Nietsczhe. Not when I was Calyx Damian, who'd been orphaned and forced to live on the streets after his uncle almost killed him. But if you'll know me, then you'll know that life would never stop me from getting what I wanted. I had displayed that trait as the first incarnation of Sebastian Valmont, with many conquests to support that claim.

"I need to talk to you, Kathryn."

Her pale hand took mine, leading me into an empty hallway. My hand was too rough for hers now, the fingers too long, and it was not immaculately clean due to the paint stains that would never come off. When we were alone, she withdrew her hand and crossed her arms over her chest, frowning slightly. I could tell she was alarmed, but the mystery that surrounded Calyx Damian was too great for her to dismiss.

"Talk." She spoke finally.

"I—"

"Kathryn?" Blake Preston's voice echoed in the hallway and we both turned at the sound of his voice.

We looked at each other, Sebastian Valmont and Kathryn Merteuil standing so close when death had separated them in the past. The next thing I did, I did out of madness, of intoxication from her touch, and for the sheer reason that I'd wanted to do this ever since I saw her.

Before she could react, I kissed her, hating my unfamiliar mouth and hating that she was pushing me away. I grew more insistent, tasting her and finding that like fine wine, she grew sweeter as she'd aged. Perhaps it was the way she was being kissed, with such unconcealed ardor, or perhaps she felt me speaking through this green eyed man, the familiarity of the right amount of connection between our orifices scaring and arousing her at the same time, but either way, she found herself responding.

Blake's footsteps were growing louder and I had to pull away. Her eyes were half lidded, her mouth exquisitely swollen and her hair slightly disheveled from our tryst. "Meet me later. At your old house, in the room across yours... You remember it well, don't you?" I whispered, almost as out of breath as she was. "There's more to be said."

I walked away, my mouth slightly open, and I had never felt more alive at that moment. Kathryn brought her fingers to her lips, her eyes dazed and ears deaf to her adoring husband's deep voice.

"Sebastian." She said softly, and I turned around. Her irises were slightly damp, and she looked as if she was rooted on her spot. Blake touched her cheek worriedly, but she never stopped staring at me. I was hidden in the obscurity of the large hall, but the distance didn't seem to bother us. I gave her one of our secret smiles, the real one that I could only hope she too recognized.

I raised a hand in acknowledgment, that arrogant smirk suddenly back. Was I insane for leaving her like that? No, because I knew that she'd be at my old house later. My father and Tiffany had sold it after Kathryn got married and I wasted no time in acquiring it... It made sense to be there, at that place where everything started and ended.

* * *

**A/N: Surprise. Yes, I'm technically on leave but I wanted to get this out. Sort of a... _temporary reprieve?_ Lol (in reference to my beloved AIE story) I've been trying to write BGA but am failing miserably. I wanted to write something that's never been tried before... Testing the boundaries and all. So yes, the AIE sequel is still on hiatus, but what I can tell you is that Belinda and Nikolai are... Hmm... Tell me if this storyline's too ludicrous. You can probably see Neil Gaiman's influence in this. Haha  
**


	5. Heal

**Chapter 5: Heal**

**_"But when worlds collide_**

**_And all that I have_**

**_Is all that I want_**

**_The words seem to flow_**

**_And the thoughts_**

**_They keep running._**

**_And all that I have is yours_**

**_All that I am is yours."_**

**-Mae**

If you've been keeping up with me, if you've been listening to all that I've said ever since I died, then you'll have some form of understanding of the reason why I've been pacing around the empty Valmont residence for hours now. Rita had been surprised to realize that I'd moved out of that disgusting hell hole, and for good reason. I was Sebastian Valmont, I didn't go through all this just to live there.

Everything in my house was deathly silent, there were no servants, the furniture was covered with a layer of dust, and it smelled of old leather and wine. The only lights that were on were the ones in my room and in the library, where I'd spent the entire time trying to read so I could control the anxiety that was overcoming this still strange body. The ticking clock read past twelve, but she was still not here. Out of sentimentality, I visited her old room… The chamber of the most complicated woman to have ever lived, and the fact that it was now empty and there were no things in there that would have signified Kathryn made me sad. Calyx Damian's body was light enough to move around in, but there were times wherein I would miscalculate the number of steps. He was taller than me, the strides longer, and his arms decidedly more weak than mine had been. While I now had no trouble reaching for the topmost part of my cherished book collection, I amusingly found that my arms ached from clutching two or three hardbound first editions.

I was tired. I could tell that Calyx wasn't used to parties, but he was most definitely used to the alcohol. I longed to sleep, I wanted my wrist to heal because the feeling of my open skin freaked me out.

Where was she? I had been so assured that she would come. She did say my name, right? My gaze flickered disinterestedly over the opened books that had tried to get my attention and I was about to give up when I heard that voice again.

"Should I be frightened of you?" she stood almost hesitantly in front of me, still wearing that soft, green dress that brought out the flecks of gold in her eyes. "You know about my stepbrother, you live in his house, ask me to meet you in his room, and read all his favorite books."

I laughed gently, staring at her. In my mind, I was painting her with Cal's talent, taking photographs of her looking so uncharacteristically vulnerable with mine, and loving her with my two lives. I beckoned her to come closer, "You, frightened? You're not afraid of anything, Kathryn."

"Then who the fuck are you?"

"Calyx Damian, an artist."

She wasn't buying it, and neither was I.

"Who are you?"

I paused, finally saying the name we both wanted me to say.

"Sebastian Valmont."

It took two words to incite another shocked reaction from her. Once again, she looked like the Kathryn I knew, the same one capable of fucking you up thoroughly if you made so much as a wrong move. Her eyes narrowed in thin slits, her threatening glare a million sharp shiny knives stabbing me under the harshness of her anger. What could I possibly tell her as she stood shaking in front of me, completely losing the control she'd held as a weapon against me?

She looked torn between wanting to hurt me for mentioning the guilty secret that had been gnawing at her and turning to flee from this blond haired madman who might have somehow known about her stepbrother and wanted to screw with her head. I approached her quickly, grabbing her arm and forcing her to look at _me_.

"Leave me alone! Sebastian's dead!"

I wanted to scratch at this foreign body I'd inhabited, pull out the wrong shade of blond hair I had and claw out the unfamiliar eyes that couldn't stop watching my frightened stepsister backing away, her face drained of blood.

"It's me." I answered, hating how different my voice sounded. "It's Sebastian, Kathryn. Let me explain, I promise I won't hurt you."

She grabbed the marble sculpture and swung it at me, the outstretched hand of the frozen goddess Aphrodite bringing a blinding pain against my temple as I collapsed to the floor, clutching my bleeding head and yelling a string of profanities while she ran for the door.

"When I died, I came to your room! I saw you seated alone, you were staring out the window with a thoughtful stare in your eyes." I screamed out in one last attempt to get her to stop. She did, and she remained as still as that statue she'd used to hit me while she studied the bleeding man on the floor. I took this as a sign to continue, "Ronald came in and he told you, Kathryn. He told you what had happened to me and you took it so well. There wasn't a trace of sadness in your eyes and you just asked him to leave. I hated you for that, and when I was about to leave, you said 'Damn you, Sebastian.' and you fell apart. You cried and you hurt yourself and everything in sight."

"Stop it." she answered hoarsely. "You can't be him. My stepbrother's gone."

"You'd have nightmares of yellow cars and blond hair stained with blood, and I'd come and lie down beside you to tell you stories. Sometimes you fall asleep and you dream of better times, times I put in to make you happy even for a couple of minutes."

"I'm going insane, aren't I?" she demanded, "I'm hallucinating. I'm not really here, this isn't my old house, this isn't-you're not—"

I stood up shakily, noticing that the stitches from my wrist had loosened and the bandage now stained. Wincing at the sight of blood flowing once again from my body, will it ever stop coming out? I placed my hand on my bleeding head, trying as best I could to appear calm before her. "I'll show you."

She was slowly letting herself believe, letting herself indulge this madness that might bring the broken legacy of Sebastian Valmont and Kathryn Merteuil intact after years of being extinct. The statue dropped to the floor with a loud clatter and I wiped my hand to my stained shirt, squinting to keep my eye from seeing liquid red. Will the blood flow out of my body continuously? When she allowed me to come closer, I ran a finger down her shoulder and she relaxed, tilting her head as I kissed her. She was warm and familiar, an old home, if not the only one, I'd greatly missed. The contact increased in its ferocity, her mouth on mine both searching and yearning, and it was when I chose a memory of us, my favorite one at best. I spoke of having the ability to make her see past experiences in her dreams, and while our bodies chafed against each other's, I smiled through the kiss, my eyes closed and my experienced soul channeling every bit of knowledge I had. There was a sudden gust of wind, and in Kathryn's mind, she felt as though she was slipping into an empty black abyss of voices and spinning visuals.

My heart pounded as it always had whenever I fed a memory to her, but when my lips broke from hers; the look on her face was worth it.

We were fifteen again, seated inside my car. It was when she first kissed me. When she felt me leave, her dark green eyes slowly fluttered open and she found herself looking at a dark blond curly haired boy with piercing blue eyes and a swollen red mouth. She gasped and I merely grinned, shrugging nonchalantly.

"You think I look better like this?" I remarked casually, quite enjoying the sight of the impassive Kathryn Merteuil utterly shocked.

She wordlessly grabbed the collar of my dark suit, its tie loosened earlier and pulled me again, not even asking how the fuck I could do that. I wrapped my arms around her small waist, her younger version not at all surpassing the beauty she would grow deeper into over the years. We were making out inside, a mixture of relief and inward bliss and years and years of pent up guilt and regret and every emotion in between. It was then at I knew, as I had known so many times in different instances that I love this girl, this fierce vixen of soft hair and sad eyes, the most mischievous fifteen year old to ever kiss me with her champagne flavored lips…

"It's very unbecoming of a lady to be so forward." I commented while her small hands fumbled to get my coat off.

"Fuck you, Sebastian."

I nibbled on her neck, gently biting teasingly. In the small confinement of the Porsche, her lithe body had somehow managed to entwine itself with mine and I realized that this was the first time we'd ever breached that line of teasing. So this was what I'd missed. I had missed out on a lot, to say the least.

"Say it again."

"Say what?" she responded breathlessly while I devoured her in a fifteen year old body that bore the immense lust and passion of an older man.

"My name. I've missed hearing it."

"Sebastian, Sebastian…" she moaned when I lifted her dress up, my hands grazing her inner thigh. I had to control myself, to pace this intense state of hunger and love for Kathryn. I closed my eyes and brought us to another place, a bittersweet memory that still served as a sore spot for the two of us.

We were at our parents' wedding.

She looked momentarily disoriented before she realized where we were. She blinked slowly, looking bewildered at the reason why I would bring her here, of all places.

"Why the fuck did you bring me here?" her tone was sharp and angry, "I don't like this, Sebastian."

I didn't speak, keeping my attention on our parents who were oblivious.

"Do you, Edward Valmont, take Tiffany Merteuil to be your lawfully wedded wife…?"

Finally, I smiled at her, my eyes roguish.

"I love you, you awful bitch."

I don't know whether to laugh or cry or curse happily at the shock in her gaze while she looked around and realized that nobody else heard me talk. It was a memory, and we could do what we wanted to without being ridiculed or mocked or looked down at. Nothing could hurt us then, and nothing ever would now…

Or so I thought at that point.

I crossed the threshold of the Merteuil-Valmont union and used my cold hands to run through her dark hair, frowning when I saw two drops travel her porcelain skinned cheeks.

"Are you crying on me, Ms. Merteuil?"

"You wish."

How glad I was to be inside my original self, because everything else seemed to fit better with Kathryn when I was the blue eyed arrogant asshole she loved and hated and the same time. I opened her mouth with mine, our tongues pink and touching, her hands wandering to the growing need in my pants.

It was scandalous, to say the least. The stepsiblings mauling each other in front of everyone at their parents' wedding. But this was merely an illusion, a form of alternate reality wherein we were both who we really wanted to be and did what we both wanted to do. I took her hand and led her inside to my room, our faces warm and flushed. As I closed the door, I felt her touch my face, cupping my cheeks and bringing her face closer to mine so she could look at me intently, this was a dream she'd wanted to have, but I had these dreams. I've had them even before I died and she just didn't know it.

"I want to see you before you left." She said quietly, and I nodded in understanding. As I kissed her eyelids close, I brought her to how we were, the arrogant, hardheaded pair that everybody secretly loved and hated. It was after I broke up with Annette, and I angrily wiped the tears from my eyes. Her dark green eyes were filled with a profound poignancy and I felt her quiver in my arms.

"I think that's the saddest thing I've ever heard." She whispered, echoing the same hurtful thing she'd said to push me away. Her fingers ran through the curly tufts of dark blond hair, our expressions intent and stripped of arrogance.

"I think you're the saddest girl I've ever seen." I told her quietly, letting her gaze memorize the features of my face. In her dreams I was always bloody and disfigured except for the ones I put in, but even then, her nightmares would find their way back and what was happy would turn black, blue and red.

She had never cried since the day I died, preferring to keep it inside. As the years progressed, the tears unshed hardened and became sharper until she was slowly being impaled within herself and she didn't know what else to do except try to numb the pain through drugs and the occasional sex with her husband. There were instances of a few drops, but Kathryn had never let everything out. She couldn't. It wasn't in her nature as it had never been in mine.

Her hands still continued to touch my skin, my lips, my eyes… The feeling was arousing me more than any kind of sexual innuendo ever could, and it seemed as though it was all she wanted to do. Strangely enough, I was okay with it. I continued holding her while she touched me, marveling at how I alive and real I felt. My fingers caressed her back before resting on her lower back. It was one of my favorite parts of her body; it had a slight curve that exactly fit my torso whenever she'd try to tease by lying on top with her back against me.

"Are you done with my face now?" I tried to break the tension, afraid that she'd cry and I didn't want to make her cry. She was done with the pain.

A small smile brightened her beautiful face and I found myself nearly delirious when she kissed me again.

_God, I'm sorry, Sebastian. I didn't… I never wanted… I need you._

Stunned, I instinctively pushed her away. Were those her thoughts? The things she never could say? She stood there, slightly flushed, mouth open and now tinged a dark pink. When I brought her to me again, she didn't feel as surprised as I would have pegged her to be when I'd pulled back.

_I killed you… I'm sorry… I'm so fucking sorry…_

There it was again. Her voice, fragile and scared, speaking within the depths of her tortured being…

_You're back… I can't… I'll never do it again, I promise… Do it gently… But I want you so badly… I've missed you… Make love to me… We're beyond games… That feels so good…_

Perhaps I should have told her that there were times when I could hear her speak to me even though she never said anything, but I was afraid that she'd lie even within herself, and it scared me. If she buried the truth more and more, she might lose the vestiges of honesty she had left. It was an occurrence so bad I wish it to no one… For what will we become if we lie even to ourselves? I gently unzipped her dress and the soft green material fell to the floor silently, like a dream dissolving as a person wakes up. Kathryn is poetry. Her body a white canvas waiting to be touched and loved, her kiss death and life, heaven, hell, and that place in between, the softness of her skin comparable to the gentle crashing of the waves as the sun set upon an empty beach… Soothing to the senses… She was the monster, the instigator of my death and the same reason why I fought so hard to live again, she is innocence lost but never ever losing her beauty in the midst of it all. My mouth found her neck and she gasped, tearing my shirt open and laughing as the buttons hit the floor in small clatters.

_Don't leave, Sebastian. Don't leave again._

We made our way to the bed, our bodies never losing contact. We were hungry, this eternally beautiful woman and I… Hungry with lust and passion, hungry for a void to be filled, hungry for the power we'd both lost, for the pedestal we both fell from, for each other, for a smirk, a touch, an accidental graze of our skins that incited visions of bedrooms and entangled beautiful bodies lost in each other, something, _anything_ that meant we could take back what had been stolen from us.

_I'm sorry… God, I'm so sorry…_

I'm sorry, too. For the journal, for hurting you like that. We hurt each other because we loved each other too much; I'm not going to do that anymore. I'm through with hurting you just as you're going to be through with feeling guilty about what happened.

She twisted and grabbed pieces of skin on my back, her fingernails leaving impressions and the sensation of finally being inside of her leaving a permanent glorious scar of bittersweet proportions to my heart.

It was as if we had both been waiting for this moment to come.

Kathryn Merteuil is a sad song heard only by the mournful. Her gasps and groans turning into the most exquisite of music I had ever heard, and as she said my name like a mantra to keep this dream from ending, I felt more and more like myself. I was not Calyx Damian in our illusion, I was Sebastian Valmont, blue eyed, red mouthed, curly haired. She met me halfway, grinding her hips and causing me to go deeper and deeper until I felt as though I would die another death if I kissed her one more time. Kathryn sucked on my mouth lightly, her hold loosening and grasping the back of my neck while another moan escaped my throat. It was truly the most erotic and fulfilling experience I'd ever had, and that's saying a lot.

When our lips parted for the briefest second, it stayed hovered above each other, mere millimeters apart as though we were both afraid to stay away for too long. I felt her breathe against me, her forehead perspiring slightly and her eyes looking at me. I stopped my ministrations for a moment and stayed inside of her while using the other hand to trace circles on her collar bone, taking advantage of the fact that my eyes were familiar to her by gazing back at her with all the emotions I dared to feel in front of the ice princess herself.

"I missed you everyday I was gone." I finally said, my tongue moving in my mouth slowly while I formed the words.

She was crying again, and I frowned at this. "Don't do that." I kissed her again and we kissed and touched and stared and made love until we could do nothing more than to try to not fall asleep because somehow she knew that when she woke up, I would not possess the blue eyes anymore. Afterwards, she placed her chin on my chest and pinched me when she noticed I was falling asleep.

"Ow!" I complained, wincing at her small fingers. "That hurt."

"Don't fucking sleep!"

I looked downwards, meeting her gaze and found her looking so serious. "We can always go back here, Kathryn." Using my hand, I touched her beautiful face and tried to get her to smile. "Now I know how much you _really_wanted me."

"Just… stay awake for a few more hours… Or at least wait for me to fall asleep first."

"Why?" I asked curiously.

"Because I don't like seeing you with your eyes closed." She answered and I wrapped my arms around her tighter and tighter so that she would feel safe and I remember thinking that if I hold on longer, maybe the guilt would leave her body. She cuddled against me, usually deploring too much affection but finding that when it came to me, there were no rules to be followed. Her face felt warm against my neck and she pressed her mouth on it before finally letting herself rest quietly with the help of sleep.

---

It started with a flash. A word. A smile. Then that feeling that grew and grew until I woke up with a nervous palpitation in my heart that only seemed to grow more and more powerful at each second.

_"No, please, don't! Don't, Uncle John! Don't!"_

I closed my eyes tightly and saw a little girl with brown hair trying to wriggle out of a large man's grasp, her pretty dress now in tatters and her face terrified. Oh, God, no. Not this, I didn't want to see this. The pain was blinding now, and I stumbled out of the bed and out of the safety of Kathryn, half dragging myself to her room and hoping that the familiar blue walls would somehow relieve me of this thing… The consequence. I managed to lock the door before all the anger she felt tortured me, and I heard screams and shouts until I covered my ears and curled my body to try to make myself smaller.

_Her baby mouth wide open, another man's tongue inside of her… Exploring her when she was kicking and unwilling. There were bruises and burns on her little body, the skin welted red with hidden bruises from a love gone twisted. He was too big for her, and she was too weak for him at that point._

_More yelling until his large hands covered half of her face and her screams grew muffled. There was a kick, and a thrust and a pool of blood came out of her, and she was angry… She was disgusted with herself…_

What kind of torture was it to close your eyes to this scene and find that either way, you watch it…? Feel her helplessness… Her rage… Her tears on your cheeks as though you were crying for her.

_"Don't… Don't…"_

The violation of her innocence, her purity gone at the age of nine. The numbness and the pain, it intensified as she grew before my vision. Kathryn had kept too much of it inside and now I was feeling what she'd felt, like a beast inside her that had been unleashed and was now eating me alive with its evil and malice… Dying thousands of deaths… That's what it felt like? No, not this one. This one was more than thousands. This one was a preview of hell. This one was clawing at me, such sharp nails of rage and pain I felt my skin come off and my body bleeds and breaks into millions of pieces. I felt the pain I did when I died, only stronger, filled with untold emotions. I gritted my teeth and almost ground them to dust, my mouth was bleeding from accidentally biting my tongue. I cried tears I've never cried before when I felt everything she'd felt, accumulated through the years and attacking me with such ferocity that I almost forgot why I was even going through this in the first place. I wanted to die. I wanted to bang my head on the drawers to keep from watching her secretly get abused and raped, I pleaded for mercy, I pleaded to just be back in that place where I was before. It was unbearable, and I was supposed to go through this every night? I forgot what had happened with me and Kathryn as I felt like I was being submerged in acid, the gore making me want to heave and throw up this life I had been given. I suddenly understood why my mother had warned me against it, and as I lay there pathetically, my hands to my ears and wishing I had another pair to cover my eyes, I felt as though the happiness was being drained out of me. This went on for what seemed like eternity and I felt the blood trail from my tattered tongue, the floor filled with scratches from my desperation. I didn't want to see anymore, I didn't want to know everything about Kathryn. It was too hard, too difficult to love her and know her fully.

I wanted to pull of the bandage and reach into the wound on my wrist and just pull and tear and die.

Just like that, it was gone, and I was okay again. I still have nightmares of that, and I probably will from now on. Still, when I ran my fingers over the scratches, the only remnant of that awful circumstance for now, I felt myself entertain the thought of leaving. This was too much, too much pain, too much information, too much history…

_Don't leave, Sebastian._

But before I could take something sharp to cut myself with, I swallowed thickly and crawled back to my room, where I found her asleep with the smallest trace of a smile on her face.

Kathryn had never slept like that before.

Funny how it took something as trivial as that for me to stand up shakily and come back to her. While she mumbled something in her sleep, she threw and arm around me and I closed my eyes, our fingers intertwining. I hoped she would keep her eyes closed…

I brought her back to that dream and it didn't matter if she was still asleep. I wanted our fingers to fit together seamlessly, I wanted to stay awake for as long as humanly possible and just stay there and hold off living as the painter. I wanted to lose myself in her and feel her hands on my skin and her mouth on mine and her gaze connecting with a man of blue eyes. I want to feel her cure me of these wicked thoughts of a hasty departure and for the ideas of suicide to disappear. The ache was too much… I felt so tired… But maybe if I do this, we will both heal. Me and her. We were the only ones who can hurt and mend each other.

* * *

**A/N: This is my second favorite chapter. The first one's still in AIE. ;-) I honestly don't know what the fuck I'm doing with this but I was trying to update BGA and I couldn't. Besides, it's fun to see them so sad and beautiful like that. Fucking hiatus. I can't rest like this. My back hurts! (poor yx. Lol)  
**

**Katie: Here you go, at your request. Now can I rest? Lol (hey I'm a poet and I didn't even know it.) Yes, I'm interested in your insane thoughts so email me. Hahaha**

** Countdown to the next Bella Gerant Alii update (things are getting exciting aren't they?): About a week or so.  
**


	6. Enigma

**This is for babeekim, I was supposed to leave this weird fic alone because I thought that nobody would want to read something as far fetched as this but if even one person would like to read it, then write I shall. ;-)

* * *

**

**Chapter 6: Enigma **

**_"But the beginning of things, of a world especially, is necessarily vague, tangled, chaotic, and exceedingly disturbing." _**

**-Kate Chopin **

I regained consciousness to the feeling that I was being poked and prodded, which by the way greatly annoyed me. When I gave a slight groan and tried to shift my body, the prodding turned into an insistent smack on my forearm and my eyes opened blearily to Kathryn saying something that I couldn't quite catch since I was so tired from the previous night.

"…the fuck were you doing?"

I was still hung over from last night so I drowned out her angry voice and pulled her down with me, giving a groan of contentment at the feel of her warm body on mine. She struggled and almost violently pinched me so hard I thought it was going to leave a bruise but obviously the apparent intent before the barbaric act worked because by now I had lost all post coital bliss and rubbed the stinging part on my battered forearm (courtesy of Kathryn Merteuil-Preston). She pried herself away from me and I saw how accusingly she was looking at me, which was odd since I hadn't done anything…

"Did you try to kill yourself last night?" she demanded, "What the fuck is wrong with you, Sebastian? Why are there scratches on your arms? Why is your wrist bleeding again? For fuck's sake, you have blood on your chin! You look like you've been rammed by a fucking car and dragged—"

Oh.

She froze halfway in the sentence while I blinked.

"Sebastian, I'm sor—"

I shook my head and sat up, rubbing my eyes sleepily. "It's fine."

Kathryn placed her hand on my wrist and fingered the bandage thoughtfully, worried creases written all over her forehead. Actually it was quite charming to see that she was worried about me, but I didn't like how tense she was. Before she could question me further on the reasons behind my injuries, I plow right ahead of her in hopes that this matter won't be discussed again.

" Cal sleepwalks." I responded; glad to see a flicker of relief going about her. "He was quite disturbed so I suppose it's part of it."

"That's it?" she asked, her voice softer. "Are you sure?"

I nodded, scratching my longish hair and annoyed at how it blocked my sight. Kathryn still looked unsettled though and I could tell that she didn't completely believe me; her mouth was still pursed in deep scrutiny of my wounds.

"I don't like it."

"Like what?" I yawned, getting up only to stop when she ran her fingers over the scratches. "I'm going to go clean these and then…" I smiled at her, looking hungry for something that wasn't food.

"You and blood in the same image." She replied acidly, biting her bottom lip.

"Oh." I pulled her into my arms and this time she didn't object, resting her head against my shoulder while I succored her and hoped that she would stop with the imageries. "Then stop thinking about it."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because?"

"Because it's my fault, okay?" She exclaimed angrily, her breath felt warm against my skin.

"No it's not."

She looked at me pointedly.

"Okay, maybe a part of if was…"

She shoved me.

"Well, maybe a large part." I surrendered, trying to take away the scowl on her face. "But I don't even care anymore."

"How do I know you're not here to get me back for getting you killed? How do I know that this isn't some psychotic plan of vendetta against—"

"Kathryn?"

She stopped her rant and looked at me.

"I love you."

I was met with silence, blessed silence. It was the kind of stillness that was so calming, the kind that stripped your surroundings away and left you with heightened senses. As two pairs of green eyes met, I saw her look past the differently colored irises and into me. Cocky, arrogant, and wealthy son of Edward Valmont, yes that was who I was and would remain to be no matter how different I looked. Most people would have felt uncomfortable with such a sharp stare, but I find that, after years and years of being ignored, I hungered for it. It's a rare thing to be acknowledged by someone whom you crave it the most from… I'm afraid that in this world, we don't always get what we want, and perhaps, in this lifetime, I would rectify the slight errors of judgment I had made in my earlier incarnation.

"You're Sebastian." She said in a hushed voice, the wonder still apparent. "I'm not going insane? I mean, I didn't take anything last night, but I remember drinking some of Blake's vodka."

"Well, some might attest that you haven't been well in the head even before I died."

The awed expression was quickly replaced by a haughty, slightly miffed one and I couldn't help but let a small chuckle escape my throat. She looked so indignant, her dark brown eyebrows meeting and a wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows.

"You're such an asshole!"

"But an extremely attractive one at that." I buried my face in her hair and smiled to myself, thinking of how things would be from now on and not even realizing the purpose of my stay here.

"You're forgetting that you're not exactly Manchester Prep's pretty boy playboy." Kathryn returned snidely, looking me over.

"Oh, please. It's not like you weren't attracted to me last night even though you didn't know who I was."

"I was not attracted to you," Kathryn stood up, heading for the bathroom. "I was merely being polite."

"Kathryn, cut the crap. I know you, remember? I know for a fact that you would have never even danced with me, let alone talk to me if you didn't find me the least bit attractive." I followed her, taking a look at the mirror and wincing at the bloodshot green eyes and the currently not so desirable features. Kathryn was already soaked in the tub, her neck leaning comfortably against the edge of the sink while relaxing to the classical music playing in the nearby CD player. She made it seem like she wasn't aware of my presence but the moment I tried taking off my bandages after brushing my teeth, I gave a low hiss and her eyes opened at that.

The sight of blood, no matter how much I've leaked red liquid and God knew what else at the gory event of my demise, never really stopped making me wince. I felt her stare at me and I looked into the mirror, meeting her inquisitive gaze while taking another look at my bleeding wrist.

"Blood." I said, shrugging slightly as if to reassure her that it wasn't that big of a deal. "I never seem to stop shedding it."

She recoiled at my offhanded comment, hurt and guilt displaying on her face as she pursed her lips and looked at my wrist. When I was answered in silence, I reached for the antiseptic and unscrewed the cap with my free hand, gritting my teeth at the stinging pain.

"Come here." Kathryn finally spoke quietly and I turned around. She held out her arms, motioning for me to get the antiseptic and the bandages needed. With a gentle hand, she took my arm and laid on the edge of the tub while I sat on the nearest chair.

"Will this burn?" She studied the antiseptic and the bandages apprehensively.

"Yes."

"Good."

I scowled and she smiled to show that she didn't mean it.

I could tell she was fighting back a grimace at the sight of my wound (Damn Cal for slicing so deep) but her fingers wrapped around it before dabbing the cotton filled with antiseptic on the gory red area. I cursed loudly at the burning sensation that wasn't very pleasant, grinding my teeth and closing my eyes from the pain. I was too distracted gripping my thigh for support that I didn't realize she had already replaced the bandage.

My eyes were still tightly shut when I felt a pair of lips brush against the bandage covered wound and opened them in surprise just in time to see her dark head pull away. She looked up at me, grinning impishly at my shocked expression before letting my arm go.

"Join me?" she asked innocently and I felt myself break into a large smile.

After quickly shedding my clothing off, I climbed into the tub with her while she moved automatically to accommodate my size. Her back was leaning against me and her head now rested against my shoulder. My bandaged wrist was getting wet but I didn't care, she started making a peculiar sound I hadn't even heard her make for as long as I've known her.

Was she… humming?

Upon closer observation I saw her thick eyelashes while her eyes remained closed. There were droplets of water on her face and I felt her hands play with mine underwater while she continued to hum the music in a barely audible tone coming from the recesses of her soul. When I kissed her temple, she only smiled and cuddled closer, thus furthering my suspicions that she was acting out of character.

"Kathryn?"

"Hmm?"

"You look different."

Her eyes opened and she looked at me, turning her head so our mouths were inches from each other.

"In what sense?"

"Well, I've never even seen you hum before; I didn't actually think you would be capable of humming… In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you look…"

"Happy." She finished.

"Are you?"

She closed her eyes again and leaned back, her fingers interlacing with mine.

"When you died, I went to confession. Did you know that, Sebastian?"

"Yes. That did surprise me a little."

"Hmm… I bet you listened in on what I confessed."

I shook my head; rubbing my fingers against her stomach and making her give a low purr. "No. What did you say?"

"I told him, 'Listen, Father, I'm not one of your bible carrying believers, but I'm here to ask for a favor.'" She replied, her voice sounded like a voice one would have if one were to lose oneself in memories. "My stepbrother died a few years ago because I killed him."

"You told a priest you murdered me? What the fuck were you thinking? He could've told someone!" I interrupted harshly but she didn't seem to be perturbed.

"Shut up, will you? I'm trying to tell you a story about me voluntarily setting foot in an actual church."

Her skin felt soft as I placed my cheek against it, for once feeling an odd sense of contentment ever since I returned. I would be lying if I said that I didn't miss my old body, because arrogance aside, if you've seen me before, you probably would agree. I don't mean to sound ungrateful because really, Cal isn't such a bad choice but if you compare it to certain blue eyed blond bodies such as my own, I tend to be dissatisfied most of the time. I started kissing her neck and she groaned slightly before meeting my mouth with hers.

"I said I'd fucking worship their god if—"

"If what?"

"If things didn't turn the way they did." She rolled her eyes, laughing at herself. "Go ahead and laugh, you moron."

"I've never pegged you for a rosary carrying gospel preaching bitch, Kathryn. Please don't start on my account. I would hate it if you…" my voice trailed off and I felt her tense. It was one of those instances wherein I don't like it when we're on the same wavelength because the name was said even before it escaped my mouth.

"If I what? Turned into Annette Hargrove? Would that really be so bad? You seemed to like the devout Catholic type last time." She replied harshly, placing her hands on the edges of the tub to stand up. The water dripped from her skin at the sudden movement, causing small sounds of splashing to occur.

She grabbed her robe and left, never looking back. I later found her in her old room, having uncovered the white sheets of her satin bed, playing with the hollow crucifix of so long ago. To say that I had been shocked to see her still in the house would be an understatement had her frowning expression not greeted me.

"There's a stain on my dress and you didn't have hired help." She told me by way of an explanation, looking surly. "I can't go back to Blake like that. He'd notice."

"What stain? Are you serious? Are you really that superficial that you would avoid leaving just because of a small stain from that champagne we drank after?"

Kathryn gave me a pointed look, "Not that kind of stain, you imbecile. If somebody hadn't been too fucking anxious to fuck me this wouldn't have happened. I've sent one of the maids from my house to deliver a new set of clothing anyway; I was just waiting for it to arrive."

"And to think you waited for me to come after you." I retorted, deadpanned. "Then again, if history will repeat itself you'll probably laugh in my face and mock me."

_"But unfortunately, I don't fuck losers." _

Kathryn's eyes flashed a dangerous green as she stood up, pointing an accusing finger at me. "If you're so fucking angry at me then why don't you go back to Bambi?"

"Would it hurt you to call her by her given name? It's so childish that you still keep doing that!"

"Don't tell me what to do!" she snarled, shoving me. "You don't have a fucking right to do that! For all I fucking know you're not even Sebastian! Do you think this is easy for me to accept? I don't believe in this! I can't! This is too farfetched, okay? I'm becoming so pathetic that I would latch on to a man just because he remotely reminds of me him and I hate it! You're not him! You know things but you're not him! He's dead! HE DIED FOR ANNETTE! HE SHOULD HAVE COME BACK FOR HER! YOU'RE NOT REAL! YOU'RE JUST FUCKING WITH ME!"

I reeled, shocked at the intensity of her fury but she was not to be deterred. If there's one thing I've learned from this woman even as a young man, it was that her fury knew no bounds. She was now mere inches in front of me, hurling expletive after expletive, her platinum rosary with the infamous hollowed pendant wrapped around her hand while she tried to pummel with me hateful punches and shoves. The pain barely registered and I should have tried to stop her but I also wanted to hear her words, no matter how hateful or guilty it made me.

"You promised me! We agreed, Sebastian! We agreed that it wouldn't happen! HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME?"

"HOW COULD I? HOW COULD YOU HAVE ME KILLED THEN?" I screamed back in her face while I grabbed her wrists because her punches must have triggered something in my body. My chest hurt like hell and for a moment or two I felt like I was being deprived of air. "I TRIED TO COME BACK TO YOU!"

She jerked her head forward, snapping her teeth at me when I appeared too close. It was clear that even though I had her fully restrained, it was still her intention to make me feel her wrath. Her hair was still pulled up in a bun and the spontaneous, free moving motions caused by her anger earlier caused a few strands to hang loose, tickling her cheeks.

"Oh, are you going to tell your sob story now? Boohoo, poor wittle Sebastian got sent away by his evil stepsister." She mocked, laughing cruelly.

A low hiss escaped her throat when I tightened my grip on her wrists but I didn't mind it. As I moved forward, the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed and we ended up on top of each other with me pinning her down. Although our position fairly reminded me of last night's less than hateful activities, sex was not my intention at the moment.

"I came back to you." I repeated in a calmer tone while she struggled beneath me. "Why did you reject me?"

"You're not getting anything from me, you suicidal skinny blond freak." The brunette under me taunted, and while her tone was scathing, I could tell that it was her way of avoiding the scrutiny. I had seen her do it too many times in the past that it was like second nature for me to tell whether or not she was trying to change the subject.

"Why?"

"Like hell I'm telling you anything!"

"Goddammit, Kathryn!"

"Go back to hell, Valmont."

"You sent me there, you slut!"

She flinched but quickly recovered, "I can't fully take credit for that, it was a long time coming!"

"Why did you reject me?"

She surprisingly remained completely still and pliant as I pinned her down. My thighs were on her sides and her arms were held over her head, she looked at me and maintained her silence as if to inform me that she wasn't having a say about it regardless of whatever I did.

"Kathryn? Why?"

She looked at the ceiling blankly.

I shook her arms but she remained seemingly nonchalant.

"I asked myself that question everyday I was gone." I said quietly, the anger draining out of me while I watched her eyes dart to mine, quickly giving me a glance before focusing on my shoulder. "I suppose if I could pinpoint the exact instance when things could have been salvaged somehow, that last possible moment, I would have to say it was that. But no," I gave a bitter laugh, recalling the unpleasant memory. "You had to fuck that up, hadn't you?"

My words obviously had an effect on her because she shot me a venomous look, "You have no idea what you're talking about, you presumptuous fuck _None._ You can't assume the reasons for my actions and take them in that sense no matter how long you've known me."

"Then correct me, Kathryn." I answered intrepidly, bringing my mouth near the mattress so that it was next to her ear. "Not everything about you has to be a mystery."

I stayed like that until my arms almost grew tired from holding her down, she wasn't squirming but it really was an uncomfortable position. Finally, when I was about to let her go, I felt warm air, the sign of life, brush against my chin.

"I would rather send you away than play second fucking fiddle to a person I've grown to despise."

She said it so quietly but every nerve, every bone that composed this body exploded and disappeared and turned into a different substance at her grim, whispered admission. My jaw clenched by its own mechanism and I slowly pulled away from her, my hold on her loosening until I was only touching her wrists lightly. When I looked at her, she looked back at me and I saw everything. The guilt, the remorse, the hatred, the anger…

"It was a momentary lapse of judgment." I replied, getting off her. "It will never fucking happen again, Kathryn. I swear it."

She slowly sat up and rubbed her now red wrists. I imagine the pain my frustration must have caused her but she never once winced from the physical hurt. When she glanced at me, her dark brown eyebrows slightly creased and she blinked as though she recalled a memory from before.

"The last few days before the accident, I came to you. I tried to get you back, I even kissed you. Do you remember?"

I nodded my assent even though she didn't look like she really needed it.

"I asked you what happened to us and you said nothing had changed." She looked down at her raw and sore wrists. "And I said that you're wrong, because you are. I saw it, Sebastian. You were in love with her. You didn't love me anymore. I tried, didn't I? I would have fucked you if you hadn't laughed in my face, I would have let you have me if you didn't call the entire fucking situation ridiculous. How the fuck do you think I felt then? Never mind the humiliation or the embarrassment that I was replaced by another innocent twit, but the fact that you would be so ready to throw years and years of our affiliation for that laughable idea of love, that fucking angered me. I was selfish; I loathed the idea that you would be someone else's. I still am and I still do."

I remained silent, deep into my own thoughts as she was in hers. How else could I explain Annette to her? I couldn't even explain it to myself in all my eloquence. All I knew was that it was over and that whatever resolve I had when it came to the blonde died along with me.

This woman right here was all that I wanted.

I heard her soft breathing take a sharp turn when I took her hands, rubbing my thumbs over the angry marks I'd left on her skin earlier. When I kissed the sore spots, our eyes met and I gave her a lazy smile which she hesitantly returned.

"We're really quite a pair, aren't we?"

And it was thereafter followed by the infamous blue room being filled with pleasured sounds, groans, and complex individuals making… What could I have called it? Love? No, it was too trite. Lust? No, it was too generic. Could it have been called fucking? Perhaps, if you want to be vulgar but aside from a few instances of crudeness between Kathryn and me, we really are civilized members of the society. Was it sex then? I guess… But even that was too general. Saying we slept together would be downplaying the immense building up and release of a fiery heat between us, it would have been stealing the fervor of the heated moment of anger, retribution and perhaps even love although she didn't say anything of the sort.

It was just… Passion. Maybe that's the most acceptable way of putting it. Lust would involve desire and love would be associated with sentimentality, but passion… It can branch into hatred and sex and love all at once. That's it. That's what it's called. It was passion.

---

A few hours later and a lot of bickering, Blaine had managed to cover for Kathryn since Blake knew of him as Kathryn's (gay) friend. It wasn't a transparent alibi since the fairy had been a constant fixture in her life since my demise. I'd have to thank the druggie when I see him. At the moment we were seated in one of the more exclusive cafés, my face was buried in the newspaper since it contained an article about my newest exhibit while Kathryn was in the restroom, hopefully not throwing up the meager salad she'd just ate. I really could care less about this painting thing but it was such a shame to let Cal's talent go to waste and besides…

My thoughts stopped when I saw a flash of brown hair in one of the adjacent tables. As I placed the newspaper down and took a sip of my coffee, the brown hair was, it turned out, attached to a little girl who would have been the exact replica of Kathryn as a child (or possibly her daughter if she had one). I was even more surprised (and perhaps a bit disturbed) to see that the child even had the same shade of her green eyes and when our eyes met, she gave me a naughty smile before saying something that instantly caused chills to spread all over me.

"Hello, Sebastian." She mouthed, winking at me before jumping off the chair that had been too high for her. I jumped up, my blood turning at a zero temperature and almost slammed into the incoming waiter carrying a tray of food in my pursuit of the enigmatic young thing. Had she really said my name or was I imagining it? I weaved through the crowds outside and cursed the New York streets for being so fucking busy. When I caught another glimpse of her, she rewarded me with another sweet smile before I accidentally got distracted by running into another person.

"Oh!" A completely familiar voice winced while I bent to pick her fallen things up. "I'm sorry I wasn't…"

"I-It's fine." I muttered, handing her the fallen belongings. My longish blond hair fell into my eyes as I lowered my head to make my way back to the café when she grabbed my wrist.

"I'm sorry, aren't you Calyx Damian? The painter right? I've gone to your exhibits and I really am a big fan."

I could only nod, wondering how fate could have thrown me another curveball so fast.

A hand was held out in front of me but truth be told I was staring at her face. It wasn't that I was attracted to her, well, I was, but things certainly are different now. It was more of the surreal fact that out of all the places, out of all the times to have stepped out of the place, it would have to be now, right here.

"I'm Annette Hargrove."

* * *

**A/N: Okay… Babeekim if you're reading this, this one's for you since you seem to share my insanity with this fic. Now, as for all you other people… Well, I'm going to try and update all the unfinished works on a routine basis… Like… Things Unsaid for next week, and BGA the next, then this, then An Awakening in Five Acts… Huh. Whatever, I just wanted to tell you guys that I am constantly trying to think up of what our favorite bitching couple will do next. Oh, and a shoutout to AnnLaw, who has left me review that made me go "Aww". I'll post a sufficient THANKS and a different reply when I update the Awakening fic. ;-D  
**


	7. Tromp l'oeil

**Chapter 7: Tromp l'oeil **

**_"Maybe redemption has stories to tell, maybe forgiveness is right where you fell. Where can you run to escape from yourself? _**

**_Salvation is here." _**

**-Switchfoot **

"I'm Annette Hargrove."

I tried not to gape at her, although I seemed to not be doing well in that department since she looked at me curiously. When she gave another shy smile, I remembered all those times we were together.

"Pleased to meet you." I answered politely, the dulcet tone in my voice somewhat contrasting what she may have read about me since the body I inhabited was, although profound and meaningful, uneducated. Cal had been reputed to be somewhat of a recluse, preferring to hide behind his work. On occasion, Rita had had to physically drag him out of bed (or the floor, where he usually fell asleep) so he could do a couple of interviews for a few magazines.

"I'm actually here for the opening of your gallery a month from now." She laughed to herself, sounding sheepish. "I convinced my fiancé to get the invitations beforehand. His best friend is one of your many clients and I had him procure it for my birthday."

On its own accord, I feel a pang of jealousy. "Your fiancé?"

Annette nodded, her mouth widening into a genuine grin. It was then that I noticed the sparkling diamond on her left finger.

"Tyler Duncan." She replied, "He's a businessman."

Tyler Duncan, from what I've read in the financial section of the Times, was one of the most prominent Wall Street moguls in the business. He was also, according to Kathryn, rumored to have slept his way around the Upper East Side in his youth. The striking resemblance to me is disconcerting, and Kathryn had even confided that during one of her husband's parties, she had fucked Tyler in Blake's study. When I showed my resentment, she had assured me that it was only a one time thing since Tyler had apparently gotten engaged to a woman she had yet to know. The fact that Tyler Duncan and Blake Preston had been friends since college was also a big factor, since the two were like brothers and she surprisingly didn't want to commit such a betrayal against him.

"Yes, I think I've heard of him."

She shifted her weight and rifled through her purse to bring out a set of keys that I knew only too well. "I suppose I'll see you at the unveiling, Cal. I really do look forward to seeing your work."

"Yes, I was thinking of taking a new turn with it. Perhaps a tromp l'oeil… I've always been fascinated with photography."

This caught her interest and she faintly looked ill at the mention of photography. I was curious as to how her reaction would be and it felt gratifying when I saw how her blue eyes looked far off in thought at the moment. A tromp l'oeil is the fusion of painting and photography; I think I had mentioned it to Annette when she had been my girlfriend.

"Tromp l'oeil…" she whispered, tightening her grip on her keys.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing… You just reminded me of someone."

"Who?"

"My ex boyfriend." She paused hesitantly. "He died."

"I'm sorry." I tried to smile even though the surreal situation unnerved me a little. The door to the café opened and I felt mildly anxious that it would be Kathryn looking for me. I must have breathed a sigh of relief upon realizing that it wasn't and I quickly bid goodbye to the blonde before hurrying back. I had a feeling that aside from the unveiling of the new paintings I had yet to finish, it wasn't the last I'd see of Annette Hargrove.

I found Kathryn speaking on her cell phone as I returned, and whoever it was that had kept my former stepsister preoccupied deserved my thanks.

"Yes, I know." She rolled her eyes and mouthed a 'Where have you been?' while continuing her conversation. I merely smiled faintly, knowing my whereabouts for the past few minutes was going to result into another spat.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she argued, her beautiful face contorting into a frown. "Blake, don't be like that. It's annoying."

He must have said something correct since her frown disappeared. The jealousy this time was undoubtedly greater than what I've felt with Annette earlier, "Alright."

Another pause and I picked up the newspaper, the thought that we were like one of those normal couples that ate out made me smile.

"Yes, I have to go… Wait, you're inviting who to where?"

Her voice had risen to a high pitch, "Blake, you can't honestly be serious… No, nothing's wrong with that… Fine. I'll see you at dinner."

She hung up and gave an annoyed sigh.

"What's wrong?"

"My husband's just invited you to dinner with us. It seems that Tyler's fiancée is quite keen on meeting the infamous neurotic painter so being the faggot that my husband is, he's decided to call Rita to arrange it. She should be calling you later today."

Oh shit. Annette.

"What's wrong with that? Are you ashamed of me or something?" I asked bitterly.

Her green eyes darted around the room before she reached over and squeezed my arm lightly, by then her voice had become softer and rather than respond with antagonism, she did the opposite.

"It's not that, Sebastian." A smile tugged the corner of her mouth, the smile quickly turning into mischief while she leaned closer.

"I just don't want to complicate things."

"Look around, sweetheart. It's as complicated as it gets." I scratched my bandaged wrist. "You're married, I'm technically dead, and we're about to go to dinner with your husband, his business partner, incidentally the guy you screwed and the guy who looked like me, and to top it off, you're going to see Anet—"

I stopped in mid sentence but again, it was too late. She picked it up quickly and stared at me accusingly.

"Annette? How am I going to see Annette?"

Too late. The cat was out of the bag, so to speak.

"I met her earlier."

"What!"

"She's Tyler's fiancée."

"Bitch." She cursed again, frowning. "Do you realize that probably the only reason why she's with him…?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"Hmm." Kathryn stared at me acutely, "What else have you thought about when it came to Bambi?"

If I were of course to tell her that I felt a bit jealous when I found out she was getting married, I would have probably walked out of the café wearing my food so I chose another path that was as equally the truth.

"Honestly?" I smiled, "My car… And how good it would be if I got you in it."

The worried look vanished at my suggestive tone, "Just good, Valmont?"

"Let me rephrase then, Kathryn."

I took her hand and rubbed her palm with my thumb thoughtfully, aware that the image of her with another man being affectionate to her could prove to be detrimental to her marriage, since Blake Preston was a well known businessman. I didn't care. She looked alarmed at the line that had been crossed but quickly relaxed and I realized that I had been the first person she allowed to be this close to her but before I bemoan the tragedy of my demise, I concentrated on her.

"I thought about my car, getting it back… Having you in it… Preferably naked but of course we can't have that… I apologize though, it won't be good. It will be fucking great."

She smiled. I loved making her happy.

"Better?"

"Much."

---

That was where Saturday night found us. I was presently seated beside Kathryn and her husband while Annette and the infamous Tyler Duncan were placed opposite us. It was a bit disturbing to see the man who allegedly looked like me because he really did resemble me in a way. It was like staring at a mirror only… Not.

Does that sound odd?

He had the same shade of blond hair as I did during my earlier life, same blue eyes only his built had been more angular than mine. It wasn't difficult to believe that he had been somewhat of a playboy in his youth, egotism aside, if he had my looks then yes, I would have understood that concept. His mouth was thinner than mine had been, but the guy just was too fucking charming. He genuinely seemed to love Annette, and again I realized that this was what I must have looked like before.

"So, Annette tells me she ran into you earlier." The man under my scrutiny spoke, smiling pleasantly. "She really loves your work."

At least the way he smiled was different.

Underneath the table, I felt Kathryn dig her nails into my thigh.

I nodded, averting my eyes from Tyler's face before he thinks that I was checking him out. "I'm flattered that she would."

I leaned closer to Kathryn as the conversation took another turn.

"Retract the claws." I hissed, "You want me to bleed to death?"

"Is that even a question?"

"Sadist."

"Loser."

I smirked and jerked my head towards Annette, who seemed to be watching me with a strange look in her eyes. "Jealous?"

"Aren't we cocky?" Kathryn whispered back, oblivious to the peculiar stare I was getting from the blonde.

"You don't need to be, you know."

We were interrupted by the serving of the main course, but I still caught her hide a smile behind her hand. Blake and Tyler had launched into a discussion about business but as soon as I saw Annette raise the food to her mouth, all rationality left me and I reached out to grip her wrist firmly. The meal contained nuts and she was allergic to it, I remember having had to take her to the hospital after our third date.

"Don't, Annette. You'll get sick." I spoke, the voice coming out of me was deep and sounded like the way I had before. When her eyes widened, I loosened my grip and cleared my throat. By now everybody present had gone silent and I felt Kathryn's nails dig deeper.

I withdrew my hand and cursed myself for the concern.

"She's allergic to peanuts." I explained and then felt alarmed as to how I could ever explain how I knew. Annette had once said that not a lot of people knew it, in fact, I was the only person she'd said it to because she was embarrassed about it and didn't want it to spread around.

Tyler turned to his fiancée, who by now had turned an interesting color of white that could have rivaled Kathryn's color.

"I didn't know that."

"How did you know?" she asked in a hushed whisper, "The only person I ever told was…"

I managed an ill grin before she could complete the sentence, "Wild guess."

I also realized that the longer I stayed here the deeper the hole would become so I excused myself, saying that I suddenly felt tired and that it would be best if I left. Annette was still looking at me oddly and her eyes had narrowed when Kathryn announced that she would walk me out.

As soon as we were allowed, I felt my balance leave me when the brunette shoved me roughly.

"You idiot!"

"Well, I'm sorry okay?" I complained, rubbing my shoulder. "I couldn't just let her die."

"She wasn't going to die! Fuck, you're still a pussy. You're in love with her, aren't you?"

I heard a slight shuffle but by then I had gotten into the argument too deeply, "Are we back at this again, Kathryn?"

"Yes, we are." She crossed her arms over her chest, "And we're going to keep coming back until you give me a sufficient reason to believe otherwise. Don't you think I haven't noticed how blatantly envious you looked when Tyler held her hand?"

"I was jealous because the guy looked like me okay?"

"I don't believe it!"

"Well it's the truth! I'm stuck in this fucking body and I hate it. When I saw him I remembered what you said you did with him and I know it should have been me, okay? So please, just stop. You're giving me a headache."

"Not Annette?" she asked again, her arms uncrossing.

I pinched the bridge of my nose in frustration, "Of course not Annette. When did you start becoming so clingy?"

She gave an indignant cry, "I am not! God! You're still an obnoxious overconfident bastard, aren't you, Valmont?"

I had to crack a smile at how affronted she looked, her features were so appalled and wounded looking that I felt my anger melt and I wrapped my arms around her waist.

"You know you love it." I murmured in her ear. "I'll see you soon?"

She kissed my neck and played with my hair, "Make it later tonight… At my old room?"

I frowned, "I was thinking of painting tonight… You do know you're distracting me from my work, right?"

"I'll make it worth the waste of time, Sebastian."

This time I heard a gasp, a more audible one at that but Kathryn didn't seem to notice it. Not wanting to alarm her, I held on to her tighter before having to let go.

"You better."

"Bye." She murmured, the softness of her lips tantalizing me to stay rooted to that spot.

"Love you."

She pulled away and smiled before walking back to her husband.

---

Hours later, I stepped back to survey my work. I had converted one of the rooms in the townhouse into a studio, and at the moment I had just finished my third painting. I was sure that the critics would notice the abrupt change of styles but I wasn't worried. I had never really given a shit as to what people might think and it wasn't going to start now. As I had told Annette earlier, it was a tromp l'oeil, which was a far cry from the usual abstract works the previous inhabitant of this body was so fond of. I had painted a photograph I still had in my dark room of Aunt Helen's garden, it had been the day of the wedding when I had gone up to my room to mull over what had happened with Kathryn when I saw her standing alone there. Not wanting this to dissipate like the countless memories I had, I took a photograph of it and had it ever since. I liked how she looked in it, her face had been somber and she looked somehow vulnerable. I liked to think she was waiting for me. I made the painting preserve the photographic detail and was about to add my signature when I heard footsteps behind me.

Thinking it was Kathryn, I signed my name and wiped my hands with the rag. "Finally. What took you so long? You better not have gone to Tuttle's to get your precious white powder, Kathryn. I told you to quit that shit, remember?"

I was still fixing my paintbrushes, "Look, if you're still mad about that…"

I turned around and stopped talking.

Annette was there and she was staring at my painting.

"I know that place." She said shakily, taking unsteady steps forward.

I blinked, "I'm sorry, what are you doing here?"

She grabbed the envelope containing the photographs from the wedding and took the one of where I'd based my painting.

"Who are you? Where did you get this?"

"I was… Exploring the house and I found it. I thought that that photograph would make for a nice subject so I…"

"This envelope was locked in a safe."

Fuck.

"I had it opened. Call it curiosity."

"How did you know I was allergic to peanuts?"

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"I told you," I wiped my suddenly perspiring forehead with a small towel. "I just had a feeling."

She placed the envelope down and stood in front of me, her eyes filling with tears. "You remind me of him so much. Just now, at dinner… The way you grabbed my wrist, the way you looked at me… God… Even the way you spoke."

"Of who?" I asked even though I dreaded the answer.

"This was his house, you know."

"Who are you talking about?"

"It's just… It's not possible…"

"Ms. Hargrove, I suggest you go back to your fiancé right now. He must be worried about you, it's past midnight and I honestly have no idea what you're doing here."

She took out a familiar object out of her purse and I felt my heart rate speed up at the sight of my old friend, worn out leather and thick pages. Then, she grabbed the pieces of papers I had scrawled on with my ideas and opened the journal.

"Same handwriting."

I swallowed thickly, she had turned to the page wherein Kathryn's picture was staring up at me along with a few endearing words I had put up. Namely, Coke problem, bulimic and whatnot.

"What exactly are you proposing?" I asked pointedly, resisting the urge to grab the journal and burn it.

"Sebastian."

I laughed, "You think I'm him?"

"I'm not the only one. I saw you with Kathryn earlier."

I grabbed her shoulders, knowing how dangerously close she was. "Listen to me, it's nothing. Are you even listening to yourself? How can I be your ex boyfriend? Look at me, Annette. I am not him."

In turn, she grabbed my face and forced me to look at her.

"I never said Sebastian was my ex boyfriend." She answered, her body suddenly shaking. "How did you know that?"

I really should learn to keep quiet.

"Annette, please stop." I half pleaded softly, "Please."

She gaped at me in wonder, "It is you."

"No. You're delusional. Whatever happened between you and this Sebastian person is over. He's dead, you're not. Move on."

She grabbed my shirt as if her life depended on it, I then saw her sorrow, her remorse at what had happened. She clung on to me, refusing to believe but at the same time clinging to that hope.

"Sebastian."

I tried to extricate myself from her, but by now she was sobbing loudly. Her repeated apologies broke me down and I finally hugged her back if only to give her some sort of comfort. As soon as I did that, she stopped shaking and her hold on me loosened. I rubbed her back soothingly to help her tears subside, and when she moved away from me, her lashes with thick with tears. Perhaps it was compassion that moved me, or the fact that in one lifetime, I loved her, but I wiped her tears away with a gentle hand.

"Please leave." I said after, picking up the journal to hand it back. "I won't mention this to anyone and I hope you do the same."

"I never stopped loving you." She replied in all honesty.

I looked away and busied myself with my work. After a few minutes of silence, I heard her leave and it was then that I sat down to the makeshift mattress I had placed on the floor and stared vacantly out the window.

Kathryn arrived an hour later and found me in the same state, I don't know if she understood the fact that this was more than difficult to me, or if she took one look at my disheveled state and at the painting, but she didn't present another argument over what had happened earlier. Instead of talking, I felt her lips brush on my forehead and her hands unbutton my shirt.

I took her wrists just as she was about to push me against the mattress, "Kathryn, I can't… I'm too tired to be who I was. I can't give you images tonight. It's just this, okay? I'm sorry."

As her reply, she removed her wrists from my grip and took my hands to place it on her waist and started kissing me. When we had somehow divested our clothing and moved into the ancient rhythm of lust and love, I closed my eyes and tried to preserve the feeling of being buried inside of her.

It was the only burial I would welcome.

For tonight, I forgot about Annette and the little girl who looked like Kathryn. Yes, there a lot of questions yet to be answered but as of now, like the many instances I've been with Kathryn and the many more instances to come, the ominous storm would have to be kept at bay.

There was only flesh and paint and passion.

* * *

**A/N: Am I insane? I think so. For writing this. Lol **


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